


Spirits Dancing in the Night

by cuttlemefish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Babies, Falling In Love, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Omega Yuuri Katsuki, no miscarriage/no abortion - just some awkward issues with magical contraception
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish
Summary: A respectable, middle-class omega, Yuuri can’t understand why the Crown is so insistent that he must marry Earl Victor Nikiforov, especially considering the Mayberry bloodline is haunted by secrets and intrigue so thick that Yuuri’s future husband can’t even show his face in public. Or the Victorian-light alpha/beta/omega AU (my first time writing a/b/o so be kind, please,) with aesthetic hints and lots of fantasy elements.





	1. Inside This Lonely Heart

**Author's Note:**

> At the request of folks on Tumblr this now exists. I considered posting this anonymously, but then decided to be brave. Come visit, if you'd like to ask questions: cuttlemefishwrites.tumblr.com. 
> 
> As I mentioned, this is my first time writing a/b/o and I haven't written Victorian (light) in forever, so be gentle, please. I'll be hiding under blankets with my dog awaiting comments. :D

“This would be a favor to the Crown,” Minako explained. A renowned figure of the world of opera, Minako was a very respected and dear friend of the Katsuki family with close connections to some of the most powerful people in England, as high up as Queen Victoria herself. Her hands shook with the weight of the letter as she extended it meagerly for further inspection from Yuuri’s parents. Yuuri barely looked up; the height of his collar felt like it was choking him.

Minako continued, “Of course, this means Yuuri would not be able to participate in the coming social season, but he might still have an opportunity to be presented to the court with this match, seeing as it is a match being made precisely by Her Majesty.”

Hiroko took the letter from her husband.

“I’m not sure that we could push Yuuri into such a compromising position,” she said, folding the letter and setting it on her lap. “Besides, he already has invitations to events starting as soon as next month. We have put everything together. I’m not sure this would be in his best interest. What do you think, dear?" 

Her husband looked pensive as he took off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“Dear friends,” Minako interrupted, “not to speak out of turn, but I encourage you to consider it wholeheartedly and accept without reservation—an omega with Yuuri’s background is unlikely to find another opportunity to enter the upper classes.”

It was no secret that the Katsuiki family experienced a strange series of contradictions in their London life. Although Victorian England belonged to the merchant classes, Yuuri’s beauty was only of interest to alphas with keen, if not altogether unsavory interests—the type who often saw him more like an exotic collector’s item than a person. Certainly, while a member of the high middle classes would jump at the opportunity of marriage with him, chances were a member of the royal and noble classes would not. He had no title. He came from a wealthy family, but not one without boundaries to their wealth. He had no title, either, and was perhaps too intelligent for the taste of an alpha looking for someone to impress his friends’ spouses. For all purposes, Minako was right. Yuuri was unlikely to find a better match, even if he tried. This was even clearer given how easily he’d crumbled from the pressure last season.

Yuuri had debuted a year before at eighteen. He was at a fine marrying age, even now, but his prospects would not be as good as his first cycle.

Despite his family’s money, land, and connections, and his father’s position as a physician, Yuuri had chosen a quieter route, starting off-season in the countryside without a presentation at court. His nerves had been shaken by the pressures of finding a good match and the amount of attention he’d brought on himself had been too much, too soon. His family had been practically shamed to take card after card from callers left standing without further invitation while Yuuri sulked in his bedroom (and, worst, tried to hide in balconies unaccompanied during evening balls). He’d lost so much weight that his cheek had grown hollow and his family had sent him to the country home of a dear friend in hopes of seeing him return to health, away from the city and its tribulations. A year later, he finally felt surer of himself, knowing his good friend Sara (a beta) would be debuting as well. Now, it seemed any chance of finding himself a mate was gone with an irrefutable invitation.

“Why our Yuuri?” Toshiya asked, handing the letter to his son.

“I could not say, although we mustn’t be hasty in dismissing the charms of our dear boy. Yuuri was a very popular debutante the year before _and_ he easily meets all the standards sought in a respectable mate: He is well-trained in dance and music and speaks multiple languages, in addition to having an attractive dowry and a respected family with a good name. He has come to no scandals, has an excellent education, and a face that has earned him many a suitor already. Again, this is not an order, but a favor to the Crown. Her Majesty seems to think Yuuri would make a fine addition to the Mayberry household. It is Yuuri’s choice whether he steps up to serve.”

“Then,” Toshiya smiles, his cheeks strained with stress, “perhaps Earl Nikiforov may be so kind as to pay us a visit, as would be customary of one seeking a respectable engagement, or is that not in line with his particularities? Our Yuuri is a fine young omega with excellent prospects still ahead of him; I’d like to think a visit is the least he deserves, seeing as he would otherwise receive no courtship.”

“I think we all know that is not possible, given the Earl’s very particular situation,” Minako wriggled her nose, looking just an inch towards the side of desperate. Yuuri held the letter in his hands. “My dear, dear friends—”

“No amount of endearments can endear me to the proposition, Minako. This is all quite distasteful,” Hiroko responded, looking distressed. Despite her panic, her voice remained even-keeled, matching the usual softness of her temperament. Even as she seemed confused, her usual cheeriness seeped into the corners of her anguish, like a lilt too high to be broken even by formality, “I am being asked in no uncertain terms to give up my youngest child, my sweet Yuuri, to the hands of a criminal. Sanctioned or not by the Crown does not assuage my concerns or befit the expectations I have had for my son since his birth and his presentation. We are a good family, as you say, with sensible morals and good education and relatively fine means. Our Mari has made a wonderful match for herself with the omega son of a Navy captain. We are pleased to see one child happy. I’m not sure we can risk the other’s unhappiness, knowing what is possible. Pray tell me, as a dear friend of our family, what would ever persuade the crown to demand the son of a physician marry into the family of a controversial Earl?”

Yuuri fisted his hands over his thighs, trembling from nerves. He licked his lips, trying to ease the tension pinching at his neck.

“Toshiya, Hiroko,” Minako sighed, “as much as this is a difficult favor, it will be wholly unfavorable for Yuuri to refuse. I fear, despite his otherwise excellent qualifications, Yuuri will not find another match, not a better one, at least. The rumors have spread rapidly, perhaps from the moment Her Majesty set pen to paper. The House of Mayberry has chosen a match, after years and years without a Countess, and I fear that, even if you refuse, the brand on Yuuri will remain for this season, the next season, and perhaps all the remaining seasons until Earl Nikiforov finds himself a spouse and Yuuri is left too old to wed.”

Toshiya looked towards Yuuri with alarm.

“Then, Minako, if this is true and we have come to this, then pray ask Her Majesty to kindly give her permission that the two may meet, just once. Surely if Her Majesty has determined it is only my son who could best fit the title, then she will consider it only fair to give him the choice to decide, after he has met his potential future husband. After all, my son would come to this marriage with a dowry. He could inherit a decent trust at twenty-one. As far as I’m concerned, his mother and I are in no position to deny the Earl, lest Yuuri be the one to show disfavor.”

Minako nodded, reaching for her gloves, “Very well. I will see what is possible, but at least give me a couple of days.”

.

Minako left on a Monday. Earl Victor Nikiforov showed up unannounced on a Thursday in a Town Coach carriage with his coat of arms on the door and edgings of gold-leaf over the edges of the windows and rooftop. Had Yuuri not known any better, he would’ve mistaken the Earl’s carriage for one of Her Majesty’s vehicles.

He pressed his hands against the window, nerves pooling inside his belly. Many an omega had been warned since childhood against the Mayberry bloodline. To marry into the Mayberry coat of arms was to bring shame to an omega’s family, although nary an omega (or rare beta) had ever turned down the so-called honor though history. As far as Yuuri was concerned, the last Countess had been a beautiful oddity, talented as she was refined and quiet, with a tactical mind for social politics.

“But I’m not, I’m not dressed appropriately,” Yuuri wheezed next to his sister. He was wearing a pair of brown trousers with a high-neck shirt with ruffles (to add a flair of beauty to his appearance, as was demanded of him as an omega by etiquette to beautify the world,) and a waistcoat to match. This was the customary, acceptable clothing of a male, middle-class omega in the comforts of his home, but not something worth wearing for a visit from a suitor, especially not one with a high rank.  

Yuuri watched as Minako walked out of the carriage first, wearing a dark green dress that contrasted beautifully with the tone of her skin and the dark auburn of her hair. After her, a male figure stepped down, dressed in a demure set of matching trousers and coat in dark blue. His waistcoat was a different color—a light gray that caught the eye and redirected it towards the shiny silver buttons of his coat. If Yuuri squinted, he was sure he might see the coat of arms of Mayberry blazoned on each one. Yuuri understood that had to be the Earl, who carried himself proudly with his hat and cane on the other hand. The topper of the cane also appeared to be silver, and Yuuri wondered if it wasn’t just plated, but sterling. It matched the veneered mask over his face, heavy and imposing, as if trying to blend into the platinum blonde of the Earl’s short hair. Despite being unable to see his face, Yuuri suddenly understood what people meant when they described the Earl as regal—his broad shoulders and tapered waist added to his height and gave him a certain level of elegance.  

“Well,” Mari whistled her admiration next to Yuuri. She rested an arm around his shoulders, “I see Her Majesty must have ordered him to dress respectably for you. He must be furious.”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asked innocently, wishing he could find the family poodle to hold him close.

“He’s the Earl of Mayberry, little brother,” she chuckled. When he waited for her to continue, she clucked her tongue, “Mayberry isn’t a family name or a real place, Yuuri. It is a title, passed down only out of formality to the royal errands boy, but everyone knows no Earl of Mayberry has ever been too normal of sorts. I hear Earl Nikiforov is but the most recent incarnation of his family’s peculiarities and you would do well to be careful. He does what he pleases and, right now, I hear he pleases to wear breeches and velvet and all types of things he sends made to fit but his whims. Although, considering he’s here, you’re the latest whim, I suppose…”

“Yuuri, Mari, stop spying by the window,” Hiroko urged them, moving to usher her children away from the parlor room. “Yuuri, quick, into the piano room for you. Mari, back to the table for you.”

Mari groaned, but pressed a kiss to her mother’s temple before rushing away. Her black skirts—a color customary to her alpha and married status—swished behind her as she tried to fix her tie and pull down her coat.

“Yuuri,” Hiroko reached for his hand as he attempted to move. Yuuri stood still in front of her, letting out a deep breath. She rested her palm against his cheek, cupping his face, “do what’s in your heart, Yuuri.”

Yuuri furrowed his brows, unsure what to make of his mother’s statement. His heart had little say in his future, considering he was expected to marry well to bring his family some comfort. Had he been a male alpha and Mari a female omega, there might not have been much to prove, but Hiroko had given birth to the opposite and likely been judged harshly for it, as were all mothers in similar situations. Yuuri could at least make a good match for himself to repay his mother’s love.

“I’ll do what’s right,” Yuuri promised her, kissing her temple. “Thank you for your support.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” she sighed, “I’m your mother. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Now, go in there and do what’s best for you.”

. 

Stuck in a room with Earl Nikiforov, Yuuri hadn’t known what was _right_ or _wrong_. There had been no chaperone, despite the demands of propriety. Yuuri understood this was a visit solely for his benefit, but he almost wished it hadn’t happened. He took a seat on one of the sofas, giving the Earl a shy nod to entreat him to sit on the opposite chair. Instead, Earl Nikiforov simply turned on his heel and walked towards a bookshelf, studying the books with his gloved fingers. Yuuri felt insignificant, like he was being entreated to remain standing—and he suddenly questioned if this was, in fact, a social visit and not a dismissal. A part of him still wished for the latter. He could be free a little longer, but then the Earl started talking and Yuuri lost all hope.

“Mr. Katsuki,” the Earl spoke, “I take it you have read the letter sent by the Crown and had ample time to make the appropriate assessments and have your family entreat as to my character, my accounts, and my lands. I, too, have had an opportunity to look into your family and determine the benefits of a match. Needless to say, Her Majesty has seen it fit that I wed promptly. I presume you would have been informed that, as such, I cannot promise a lengthy engagement and would require a marriage at the soonest opportunity, which, I realize, may put you in an uncomfortable position, but I assure you it will be no more than the one I am in.”

Yuuri frowned, confused, “Your Lordship, with all due respect, I fear there’s been some misunderstanding…? Perhaps if you would sit, we might talk and discuss a bit more—”

The Earl whirled around, and for the first time Yuuri could see a flash of blue behind the mask. His eyes were like ice. Yuuri stayed rooted in his seat.

“Pray, explain yourself, then, because I make no mistakes. Ever. My employment requires absolute precision and accuracy. Nothing further on the matter? Very well, then,” he said, resting his cane on the side of a table. Yuuri watched in horror as the hat was thrown onto the chaise. “Now, onto the question of your dowry. It is of a respectable amount, albeit not impressive, but given the nature of the match, I believe it to be wholly acceptable and I don’t foresee that you will want of anything under my care. Looking at you in the morning light, I’ll say you are certainly beautiful and your exotic features will bring some charm to the title. Are you any good at hosting—”

Yuuri closed his eyes tightly, standing to yell with a breaking voice, “My Lord, once again, I must entreat you to sit and listen. I fear you are wholly mistaken. I have not agreed to an engagement with you!”

The Earl almost immediately stopped talking. His gloves squeaked as he retracted his hand.

“Is that so, Mr. Katsuki?” he seemed to swoon for a minute. “Then _why_ was I summoned?”

“So that you may make a proper ask, so that I may see if this could be a suitable match for us both,” Yuuri whispered, blushing brightly as he stared down at his shoes. “But hearing you speak just now, hearing you dissect the elements that might account for an engagement, I fear that you are looking less for a spouse and more for a—”

“A business partner,” the Earl completed.

“Yes, that, perhaps even an employee,” Yuuri corrected. “Is that what you want, then?”

The Earl paused for a moment, sitting down on the chaise closest to Yuuri. He remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes broad brushing over Yuuri. He knew he wasn’t exactly dressed to meet a suitor, but Yuuri thought he looked respectable. Now, being studied, he felt exposed. He tried pressing his arms closer to his torso.

“Tell me, Mr. Katsuki,” the Earl said, steepling his hands, “what is it you are looking for in an engagement? – That is _not_ love, of course, because, frankly, I think you have some understanding of the position in which we are both currently entangled, yes? – and love is not in the equation.”

When Yuuri remained quiet, the Earl cleared his throat, “The Crown has decided the House of Mayberry needs a respectable, middle class, well-liked omega of marriageable age and without too many social seasons under his belt. And I am afraid that means my entire future is wholly in your hands, which means I cannot leave until you say _yes_. Now, I don’t know how much you’ve heard of me, but I am very persuasive, Mr. Katsuki. In fact, people find me horribly charming. Oh, do I make you nervous? I don’t mean to.”

Yuuri licked his lips nervously, “Then perhaps you might take off the mask. If your intent isn’t to intimidate me, that is.”

“That I cannot do,” the Earl tisked, stretching out his legs comfortably. “I may only show my spouse my face. I’m quoting there. This isn’t easy for me either, Mr. Katsuki. I, too, am being asked to place an immeasurable level of trust on a complete stranger. But the Crown thinks you worthy and I must abide by the strict requirements which my title demands of me at the service of Her Majesty. To decline is too risky.”

“You speak as if this were a punishment to be married, as if Her Majesty might have something against you, Sir. I don’t see why Her Majesty would intervene in the marriageable prospects of someone she does not like and would seek to punish. Marriage is a wonderful, beautiful institution in which people come to respect and love one another and, perhaps, if they are lucky, have children and lead comfortable, merry lives. Such is the role of the middle and upper classes. We have little to worry about, so marriage is ours to enjoy, not suffer through.”

The Earl sighed, “Oh, but it is precisely because she likes me, albeit not my bloodline, that I am in this precarious position. It is my understanding that she thinks an even-keeled, respectable, homely omega might make a home of the unruly, scandal infested den that is the House of Mayberry. Now, I don’t deny I’ve been less than proper, Mr. Katsuki, but scandalous? – I’m no angel, but also not a devil, despite my reputation as an untamable bachelor.”

Yuuri arched an eyebrow, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The Earl jumped over to the sofa next to him, reaching to take his hand. He leaned forward, their eyes locking for a moment, “All that to say: I think Her Majesty thinks your _gentle touch_ might tame me.”

“I wasn’t aware of your reputation,” Yuuri gasped, snapping his hand back. He flushed curiously and cleared his throat, thinking of his mother. “My Lord, I must ask you to behave. Now, tell me, Sir—”

“Victor is fine.”

“Victor, then,” Yuuri said, trying to settle his beating heart, “tell me, Victor, do you expect children? If this is to be less a marriage and more a business transaction of sort, then I’d like to know what duties await me.”

Victor chuckled, “Mr. Katsuki, a very bold question if I ever heard one. May I be frank? Yes? Thank you. Mr. Katsuki, I have no need for children; I have no desire for heirs. Were it up to me, the curse of the Mayberry line would end with me.”

“Then why seek an omega?” Yuuri pursed his lips, confused, “Preventing pregnancy altogether will be difficult and, regardless of my spouse’s predilections, I’m afraid I will not accept extramarital affairs of any kind. It would bring shame on me and my family. I also do not intend to remain untouched for life, Victor. It sounds to me like this marriage of ours would be a disaster.”

Victor sat up, leaning forward, “An interesting proposition. Mr. Katsuki, may I call you Yuuri?”

“You may not,” Yuuri smiled coldly as he inched away from the Earl. “Now, Sir, answer the question.”

Victor laughed, “Mr. Katsuki, were it up to me, I would find myself a male beta for a spouse. But I live and die to serve Her Majesty and, as you well know, there are still certain rules of modesty that must be followed in our times. As such, the state of marriage as the means through which lines procreate and wealth multiplies must be respected. The only acceptable option for Her Majesty is a male omega. I suppose she sees it as a positive that the opportunity for an heir is available, if not inevitable. Should you wish to fall with child, I will kindly assist.”

“But you would not want one, an heir?” Yuuri blushed, looking away.

“I would not want that which you would not wish to give. I am not here seeking a spouse, Mr. Katsuki. I am here seeking a Count, a consort of sorts to play the role countless others before have played to bring a certain level of glamour to the Mayberry line.”

“I don’t know if you know what people say about the Mayberry wives and husbands, Victor, but glamour is not the word they use,” Yuuri huffed.

“I know well what they say: That they’re beautiful. That they’re intelligent. That they speak frankly of politics at the table, affairs of the heart during dessert, show their ankles and cry in public, and earn the fear and disgust of the Crown. If only I could find someone like that, I would be a slave to their every word.”

“Yes, that,” Yuuri gulped. “What makes you think I could ever become any of the things you seek?”

“I have no believe that you could, Mr. Katsuki. And that will be my cross to bear that I must be peculiar enough for us both. Your role is only to be that which Her Majesty knows you are. Nothing more. I am not asking to be surprised; I highly doubt you could surprise me—I am merely asking you to be yourself. In exchange, you will have access to a noble title and wealth unimagined.”

“And what makes you so confident you know me so well?” Yuuri frowned, “I feel plenty confident I could surprise you.”

Victor sat back, “Oh? Well, if you feel so confident, then it is surely decided. I shall speak to your father and we will wed a week from now.”

Yuuri gaped in panic, “So soon?—I mean, I have not even accepted a proposal. You haven’t even proposed!”

Victor stood, walking to retrieve his hat and then his cane, “Mr. Katsuki, this visit is as much of a proposal as you will get from me. Now, like I said in the beginning, I will not be dismissed without a yes. May I assume I have it?”

“And what if you don’t?” Yuuri asked, crossing his arms.

“I have a feeling you do not know me very well, Mr. Katsuki. I do not much appreciate being under Her Majesty’s spotlight. I will do anything that will, quite frankly, get her off my back and onto someone else’s. It seems, in this case, only you will appease her desire to see me become a respectable husband and sire. May I send the engagement ring and a list of the properties and accounts under my name this afternoon?”

“A week wouldn’t be enough to plan a respectable wedding. Surely you understand the pressures this will put on my family.”

“Obviously you have not heard of a Mayberry wedding. No cost will come to your family. In fact, I will send Lady Mila Babicheva to assist you. We will need but an afternoon. Thereafter, you will need but suffer me for a few months, perhaps tidy Mayberry estate a little and have tea with Her Majesty once or twice so she may be appeased that I am a _changed_ man. Eventually, I’m sure we can decide on an appropriate expense account and you can choose the nicest home in London to make your own. I will not bother you and neither will the Crown bother me.”

“I would like one close to the opera house. I enjoy the theater, especially the ballet,” Yuuri whispered.

“A home in Paris, then,” Victor nodded, reaching for Yuuri’s hand to rest his forehead on his knuckles. “You have my word.”

“Somehow,” Yuuri sighed, “I’m not sure that means much. Wed a week from Friday, then.”

“A week from today,” Victor reminded him.

Yuuri arched an eyebrow, “A week from Friday, as I said.”

“Fine,” Victor huffed, “a week from Friday, then. I will have the ring sent.”

**TBC**


	2. Hear the Beating of His Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realize there's very little beyond lots of mentions about a/b/o status and hierarchy that would otherwise let you know it's a/b/o... because I've never written it before and I forget to include elements common to a/b/o. xD I'll get better, haha.

Yuuri tries to act dignified when his mother calls him downstairs, but it’s hard when he knows his ring has arrived. He practically trips over the rug at the end of the stairs as his mother extends out a small velvet box with the Mayberry seal printed in light gold on the top. The papers are for his parents to consider, but the ring is all for Yuuri. He cradles the box in his palms, feeling the flutter of butterflies as they dip and rise in his stomach. Mari is reading in the parlor, having waited for the ring and papers to arrive to assist their parents in looking through them.

As his family pours over deeds and titles and lists, debating whether there’s time to call on an attorney, Yuuri sits on the chaise and rolls the box in his hands. He can’t bring himself to open it just yet, probably because it all still feels surreal. Just some hours ago, he’d been unattached with no prospects other than an intimate dinner hosted by Lady Giacometti. Now, Yuuri would begin the season married and on Victor’s arm. He’s not even sure if that means he has to ask for permission to bring someone else to the dinner, or if he has to decline, assuming his future husband isn’t invited.  

“You can open it,” Mari tells him, only looking up for a split second before returning to a spirited conversation with their father.

Yuuri flushes pink, finger running over the seal one more time. The very invitation to see the ring, maybe even wear it, solidifies in Yuuri’s mind that this will not be a respectable engagement, even if it will be a profitable one. In a perfect world, his father would host a dinner party, inviting their closest friends to make the announcement. Yuuri would follow the presentation of the ring with additional letters to more friends and family members before finally wearing it in public. At least here, with his family, he’s not in public.

He’s never thought about engagement rings. He’s seen many, some more elaborate than others. His parents, though, had opted for elegant simplicity in a set of pretty bands with encrusted gems. Yuuri, in a way, always expected the same. Instead, when he opens the box, he squeaks and everyone looks up to find him pressing his hands over his mouth. The box lies open on his lap—a large blue sapphire winking under the parlor gaslight, like a giant eye crowned in diamonds. Yuuri can barely see the gold band from the number of stones gleaming white.

He counts them. Seventeen diamonds and a sapphire.

 _A proper engagement ring should have only one stone_ , he thinks, but loves the ring nonetheless. Guilt rattles his body.

Even with the opening of the South African diamond trade and the rise in imports, diamonds were still expensive. His future husband must have spent a small fortune.

“Give it here,” Mari gasps, practically climbing over their parents to get to Yuuri.

Yuuri hands the box to her without a second thought. He admires it from over her shoulder. It’s beautiful. It’s ostentatious. It’s everything Yuuri never imagined getting as an engagement ring. He fears it will dwarf his finger and wash him out entirely. Sapphires are beautiful and Yuuri has always loved them, but his penchant for conservative, muted colors means it will likely always clash with something. He’ll need to take the color into consideration when planning his trousseau. _I suppose now I have more of an excuse to invest in certain pieces_ , he thinks to himself.

“Do you think it’s new?” Mari asks, uncertain.

Toshiya studies the ring for a minute.

“It can’t be,” he says, “this seems like an heirloom, but hard to tell. I know very little about jewels.”

“I know less, but I’m sure we can ask Minako,” Hiroko chuckles, practically bouncing as she takes the ring and reaches for Yuuri’s hand. When she slips it onto his finger, everyone is surprised to see that it fits. It’s not perfect, but it fits. “My, now, isn’t that a ring.”

Yuuri licks his lips, feeling his throat tighten and dry up. This is his engagement ring. He’d always envisioned having his fiancé put it on his finger before he would run out of the piano room to show his parents. The small, fluffy family dog barks from his resting spot on the ottoman, and Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath. Something pops in his chest, loud in his ears. All the blood rushes up to his head as he begins to cry.

“Oh, Yuuri,” his mother gushes, bringing him into her arms. “There, darling, I know it’s overwhelming, but you must be strong. You’re a bride now.”

And, Yuuri knows she’s right, even if the ring on his finger feels more like an anchor than the key to happiness he always thought an engagement would be for him.

 _At least I chose the date,_ he thinks, trying to console himself.

.

Earl Nikiforov sends Yuuri a letter on Friday. It’s an unexpected delight and, despite the unwanted nature of the arrangement, Yuuri can’t help but feel the itch of excitement crawl over his skin at the thought that his future husband is writing to him. There’s an indelible essence of proper romanticism that settles in his stomach and makes him curl into himself with satisfaction.   _I entreat you to call me Victor. I’m not sure I can withstand long-term formalities. The propriety will tease me into an early grave,_ Yuuri reads and his toes curl from the invitation.  

Victor’s penmanship is beautiful, just like he is, flowing dark with scented ink across the page. Yuuri’s handwriting has always verged a little on the loopy and thick, nothing as elegant and wispy as Victor’s handwriting. He tells him Lady Mila Babicheva will pay him a visit shortly. _Spare no expense to buy your happiness_ , Victor says, like it’s the most natural arrangement in the world that his husband should pay for the costs of their wedding. It’s certainly unusual and leaves Yuuri feeling a little embarrassed on behalf of his father and family, but also relieved (and preening with petty pride) that, having imposed upon, at least his family won’t be by the festivities. Of course, Yuuri’s father responds in kind, almost instantly doubling the expenses for his trousseau.

Yuuri considers whether he should write back, but then decides against it. He must preserve absolute dignified silence. _As to produce a most distasteful effect,_ he thinks to himself. It is only fair, after all. He has been put in a most distasteful of situations himself.

.

Lady Babicheva doesn’t show up until the following day, glowing every bit like she might genuinely believe herself a miracle. Perhaps, she is, Yuuri decides.

Yuuri soon finds that Lady Babicheva is a beta with a personality as fiery as her hair. She stands the moment Yuuri enters the parlor, looking divine in a high-neck, moss green dress with hints of maroon-red. Her dress looks expensive, filled with complicated pleats that gather the skirt into a bustle at the back, and bubbling shoulders. She is style and poise, with hints of elegance despite her liberties.

“Would you rather I address you as Mr. Katsuki?” she asks immediately, setting her purse back down.

“Mr. Katsuki is fine, Lady Babicheva,” Yuuri confirms, feeling a bit sheepish. He’s wearing a bright blue silk three-piece costume, as appropriate for afternoon visits—and not because it matches his ring. Although, in truth, it _is_ because it matches his ring. Yuuri doesn’t own much blue.   

“Mila is fine,” she dismisses him with a bright smile. “May I?”

Yuuri nods, unsure what she’s asking.

She steps as close as she can, pushing his hair back with her hand. Yuuri is surprised by how easily she touches him.

“You have lovely cheekbones, a very nice jawline, too. Have you ever considered letting your hair grow? It’s all the rage now for male omegas in the continent. Although, I suppose it is too bold of me to make such a recommendation, considering your costume is reminiscent of the past decade.”

Yuuri shakes his head, looking horrified as he steps back. His hand rushes to grab his hair. He feels the soft, short strands as they pass through his fingers.

Mila giggles, “It was simply an observation, Mr. Katsuki. You have such a gentle, soft face, it would frame you beautifully. But pray don’t concern yourself over my indiscretion. My mother says I am a fountain, always overflowing, that and inconveniencing other people for my inability to fulfill anyone else’s wishes except my own. Perhaps that is precisely why Earl Nikiforov asked me to accompany you through your fittings. I do everything with such wonderful expression! – Even if I say so myself.”

She takes Yuuri’s hands, pulling him to sit with her.

“Now then, Mr. Katsuki, you will be frank with me, yes?”

Yuuri gulps hard, remembering that, like a fine host, he should offer Mila something to drink and eat. He doesn’t, too unsettled by the familiarity that Mila uses to blanket their acquaintanceship.

“Well, I will certainly try my best to repay your kindness with frankness,” Yuuri whispers. “Although I do not quite know what reason I’d have to keep anything from you.”

“Sensible breeding, for one,” Mila giggles, “Mr. Katsuki, you are a well-bred, middle class omega with the sensibilities of a man that knows his family’s three, nay is it four? – no matter, let us stay with an odd number to inspire curiosity, for two houses feels too practical and four verges on the distastefully ostentatious –  addresses inspire immense confidence in even the staunchest of class purists. And I will remark that, as such, it’s clear you will ask not for what you want, but for that which would be most becoming of your social position.”

Yuuri gulps hard. His family does, indeed, have three properties.

“I’m unsure I follow,” he whispers, hands fisting over his knees.

“You are, as yet, not the Countess of Mayberry, Mr. Katsuki. You are still in a privileged position to dictate the terms of your own wedding.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, entirely floored by the information.

_Spare no expense to buy your happiness._

Suddenly, Yuuri understands. It was not permission, but instructions.

.

Yuuri feels warm and uncomfortable, constantly anxious by the proceedings. His scent responds accordingly, souring at the very thought of wedding preparations to the point that his sister reproaches him for being so susceptible. _It’s all wrong_ , he thinks the entire time and douses himself with perfume.  

He writes letters dutifully to his family and friends until his hand cramps, mostly trying to apologize for the sudden news and the limited invitee list. Once the invitations are gone, he locks himself home and refuses visitors, half as is customary and the other half as is comfortable. The wedding will be an intimate affair in Yuuri’s home. The reception small, too. He reconciles himself with the fact that he will enjoy neither a long engagement nor an extravagant wedding party. The former makes him bitter, waiting for a trousseau he will not wear until he is wed. The latter makes him feel relieved.

Yuuri counts the days anxiously, waiting.

.

_My dearest Mr. Katsuki –_

_Are you familiar with a nursery rhyme that implies marriage on a Friday implies loss? I have been thoroughly chastised for attempting to marry on a Thursday and even more so for permitting you to have us wed on a Friday. We on a Friday, poorly matched, they say. On my discovery, I rushed to my desk to take ink to paper and express my surprise. I should have a mind to be crossed, but I’ve a feeling you’d a mind to speak in days, rather than flowers. With that, should I also expect yellow carnations in your wedding bouquet?_

_Yours,_

_Victor_

Yuuri reads the note two days before his wedding, laying on the chaise of his family’s library. He feels the same strange curl in his stomach crawl down to his toes and flushes pink when his scent wafts light and tender, matching the strong lavender of the ink. Naturally, Yuuri had felt rather triumphant in choosing his wedding day, given that he barely had a choice on the date. He considers carefully maintaining his campaign of dignified silence, but is intrigued by this particular letter out of the others he has received. Earl Nikiforov seems to have a curious relationship with his desk, constantly writing his thoughts and broadcasting them to Yuuri with letters and notes, some written on scraps of paper, at different hours of the day—some thoroughly unacceptable. Yuuri presumes he is determined to wear him down.

 ** _It is not a nursery rhyme_** _,_ Yuuri corrects in his own letter. **_It’s a wedding superstition._**

.

_Earl Nikiforov –_

_I am almost offended by the mere implication that my bouquet should have anything other than yellow roses. I also feel wholly responsible to educate you that it is not a nursery rhyme. It’s a wedding superstition. It’s surprising you did not know and I am indebted to the kind soul that brought the meaning of my chosen wedding day to your attention. It’s the least I could do, considering you have chosen both March and lent to wed us. Should we heed warning, it is common knowledge wed when March winds blow, joy and sorrow both you’ll know. But at least I will have the thorough satisfaction of knowing that the superstition also says that those who marry in lent will live to repent. I have nothing to repent, so I must assume this shall only apply to you. My kindest regards for the costume, but I’m afraid, as custom dictates, I cannot currently accept. I assure you my trousseau is most acceptable._

_Yuuri Katsuki_

.

Yuuri is only marginally embarrassed by the letter the moment his mother delivers to him the yellow roses he’d requested. It wasn’t uncommon to have roses in a bridal bouquet, but yellow roses were candid, vulnerable requests for love. _Please, love me_ , his bouquet yells in between his hands.

“And another letter from Earl Nikiforov,” Hiroko chuckles, knowingly. She doesn’t chastise Yuuri for the number of letters. He’s sure the optics aren’t favorable, but, for now, the letters are all he has to look forward to each day. He takes the letter, surprised when he finds there’s a bright pink petunia wrapped in ribbon around the thin envelope. She gives him a small, knowing smile, “I’ll leave you to your letter, dear.”

Yuuri nods, sitting on his bed impatiently before he rips the letter open. The petunia lies lonely on his comforter.

_Don’t despair._

_Victor_

  **TBC**


	3. Am I Amusing You?

_Can you believe it? A petunia. He confuses me greatly. I cannot understand his motivations. It's threatening to drive me a little mad and we have yet to wed. Imagine, we've but a day before the festivities and he has invited himself to dinner. I don't know whether to be horrified, alarmed, or enchanted that he would be so bold as to break all rules of conventional courtship to assuage my anxieties before our wedding day. Perhaps it's a sign I should be all three._

_Darling Sara, my dearest friend, you must not tell a soul that he is to come to my house tonight. I am certain others will have heard of it in their own ways, but it will do no good for rumors to be confirmed, lest my honor be further besmirched so close to achieving the grace of matrimony._

_Ever yours in friendship,_

_Yuuri_

.

Earl Nikiforov shows up late with a petunia in his buttonhole and another mask over his face. Yuuri notes with wonder that this particular mask covers everything except his lips. He marks with his eyes the clear delineation of the cupid bow of Victor's lips, following the line to the arabesque of his bottom lip. Yuuri eyes it wearily, but tries hide behind his mother in the same blue dress he wore to meet Mila. Tonight, he willingly accepts that it's only because the dress matches his ring.

Hiroko ushers them both into the dining room, entreating Earl Nikiforov to take a seat. The rest of the family is already at the table.

As the first course is presented, Yuuri stares down at his plate the entire time, too nervous to eat and too polite not to graze. He can feel the Earl’s flickering eyes to him every so often. Sitting side by side, it makes it difficult for the Earl to _stare_ , but Yuuri can still feel his interest radiating through the second course. It makes him doubly nervous to know Earl Nikiforov might be studying his profile (maybe even the placement of his chin), so much that he has to excuse himself for a moment to compose himself. Yuuri’s not sure how he’s expected to _marry_ Earl Nikiforov when he can barely stand to look at him without feeling anxious.

Yuuri is surprised to find on his return to the dinner table that Earl Nikiforov gets along well with his family, making small talk with his sister. He’d tried to ignore the earl so thoroughly, he’d succeeded in blocking out the entire evening.

“The petunia is the symbol of the House of Mayberry,” Victor says, smooth and elegant. Yuuri slides back into his seat. He tries to blend into the background. Earl Nikiforov turns to him, “It is one of the most consistently _confusing_ flowers in its meaning—right next to the rose, of course—and so wholly dependent on the meaning of the dictionary decorating any given parlor table.”

Hiroko chuckles, “I had never noticed before. I do suppose the flower dictionaries are increasingly becoming more common in circulation. And, with it, more inconsistent. It is a very pretty flower, though.”

Victor nods, plucking the flower from his buttonhole to offer it to Yuuri’s mother.

“May I gift it to you? You seem to like it so. I grew it myself, in my garden. Or one of them, at least,” he says, and Hiroko smiles politely, taking the flower from across the table.

“How kind,” Hiroko says, bubbly as she beams. “If I may be excused, I’ll set it in some water and call for our desserts. This has been quite a lovely dinner, hasn’t it? Truly lovely. I had many fears we would stand in ceremony all evening and yet here we are, already feeling much like family.”

“I must compliment your family, Mr. Katsuki. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed an easy a dinner in some time. If I knew no better, I’d say I’m in France, the home of the best dinners in the world. Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

“A favor you do us with your company,” Toshiya responds.

Yuuri stays quiet still.    

(Before he leaves for the night, Earl Nikiforov has his driver deliver a box to him. It’s black again, with the seal of the Mayberry printed on the top. Victor deposits the box into Yuuri’s hands, standing too close for comfort. Yuuri looks at Victor at a loss, ready to return the box, just like he’s done with all the other gifts he’s received from his future husband before. Seeing the box, Hiroko entreats them to sit together for a moment in the piano room.

“It’s for you to wear tomorrow,” Earl Nikiforov says, sitting too close. His knees point towards Yuuri, making Yuuri even more aware that he really does have all of his fiancé’s attention now. The box feels heavy now resting on Yuuri’s lap. “Something new. I was told it’s more acceptable for the groom to gift the bride something for the ceremony. I hope you will accept it and like it. Lady Babicheva said you would like it.”

Yuuri nods slowly, fingers digging into the velvet lining the outside of the box.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

“I was very careful that it may have enough diamonds to illuminate you, but not so many as to overshadow you,” Victor says, a breathless chuckle trapped behind his mask. Yuuri recognizes the teasing tone of his voice and tries to school the quirk of his lips back to a neutral line. He can’t. Instead, he watches as Victor’s elegant, long fingers brush over his own. He leaves the box to rest on his lap, watching with interest as Victor plucks the top off.

More diamonds. Yuuri tries not to gasp, but it’s impossible. The tiara is beautiful, with freshwater pearls and diamonds decorating loops of silver shaped to look like flowers and leafs. The lack of color surprises him, given the design of his ring, but he decides almost immediately he loves the tiara more than the ring. The tiara is soft and elegant, full of understated wealth. The pearls look almost like teardrops, glistening with the borrowed light of the pale, white diamonds. 

“You like it,” Earl Nikiforov says, not bothering to ask. Yuuri feels momentary shame at his transparency. Victor plucks the tiara from its resting spot to set it on Yuuri’s head.

The tiara feels heavy on his head. Yuuri can feel his heart hammering against his chest. He’s unsure how to express his thanks. It is the most beautiful gift he has ever received.

“It suits you,” Victor hums, and Yuuri can see his smile through the shadow of the mask. His lips are very pink. It’s the most, beyond the color of his eyes, that he knows of Victor. Earl Nikiforov lets his fingers curl as they run down the side of Yuuri’s blushing cheek until his knuckles can rest just below his jaw and above his pulse. Yuuri’s breath hitches when he feels the brush of Victor’s skin over the lace of the collar hiding his scent gland. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Katsuki.”

He walks towards the door with paused steps. Yuuri feasts his eyes on the line of his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Yuuri stands quickly, clearing his throat.

“Victor,” he calls, surprising himself.

Earl Nikiforov turns to face him.

“Pray try not to be as late tomorrow as you were tonight. It would reflect badly on us both,” Yuuri tells him, voice shaky. “I’d rather not have to domesticate a husband until after the honeymoon.”

Victor nods, barely bowing before he closes the door behind him.) 

. 

The next morning, Sara and Yuuko meet Yuuri early to get ready together for the ceremony at the Katsuki home. Their white dresses are soft and dreamlike, perfect for a morning wedding, and Yuuri feels grateful to them both that they have added no loud or large embellishments that might rival the simplicity of Yuuri’s dress. In the corner of the room, Minako admonishes her daughter Hoshiko, trying to keep the five-year-old entertained to keep her from playing with the flowers in her basket.

Mila shows up early as well, although she’s not part of Yuuri’s wedding party. Neither Yuuko nor Sara seem to mind her presence, making themselves useful by working on the skirts of Yuuri’s dress. When he slips into the rich robe of soie d’antique silk, he marvels at the way natural white roses bloom at the hem, slowly graduating into small buds by the time they reach his waist. The chemisette is comfortable, fitting close to the throat. The buttons lining his back play a nice illusion on the shape of his slim back. _Something old_ , he thinks, donning a pair of family gloves made of lace.

Mila puts on the veil and the tiara, letting the former fall low on his forehead. _Something new_ , he touches one of the teardrop pearls of his tiara. _Something borrowed,_ he stares at the earrings his mother had given him to wear for the day. _Something blue_ , and just thinking about the blue garter hidden beneath his skirts makes him flush.  

“Is it everything you wanted?” Mila asks him.

He nods, given her a hug, “yes, thank you.”   

(The ceremony is brief.

Yuuri is surprised to find Victor is wearing a rich, velvet blue morning coat with silver buttons and a set of lilies for his buttonhole. The dark cravat at least adds respectability to his ensemble, although the gloves look off for the style demanded of the year. Yuuri considers feigning slightly more distaste for his fiancé’s choice, except Victor looks perfectly well put-together. Despite the mask covering his face, the audible gasp Yuuri hears when their eyes lock gives him immense satisfaction and he can’t bring himself to even consider chastising him. 

The magistrate is ready to marry them immediately, asking them in nominal, formal fashion to repeat their vows. When Victor slides his wedding band down Yuuri’s finger, Yuuri watches, mesmerized to find more blue and white. The band matches his engagement ring beautifully, acting as a set. And, if Yuuri had ever dreamed of having a wedding in a church, the moment he puts ink to paper, the very idea vanishes with his nerves. When he turns to Victor to seal their marriage, he is met with a pair of sparkling blue eyes and the stoic, neutral expression of a pale white mask.

Shyly and uncertain, Yuuri presses a kiss to the tips of his fingers before letting his hand touch lightly against his husband’s cheek. Victor’s hand covers his own, pressing it there for a beat, then two.)

. 

Everyone compliments Yuuri’s beauty through the ceremonial breakfast. He remains a very light shade of pink through the cutting of the wedding cake. Victor stays close to Yuuri, thanking their guests politely and chiming in with a grace that helps Yuuri forget the unsightly morning coat.

“Have I misbehaved?” Victor asks Yuuri in a rare moment of inattention from their guests.

“You know you have,” Yuuri says, taking a sip from his glass. He gives Victor a peripheral glance, looking only slightly annoyed. _It wouldn’t do to look too cross now,_ Yuuri thinks, but finds that he can’t help the curl of excitement settling on his lower back. “What am I to do with you, Victor. Married but a few hours and already you seem intent to burden me with your peculiar whims.”

“Did you not like the gloves?” Victor asks, sounding surprised. As bothered as Yuuri was by the gloves, they don't rival his distaste for the coat. “I even made sure the stitching was black on the back, as is customary.”

“In 1884,” Yuuri chides him gently with his eyes closed. He takes a bite of cake before opening one eye playfully.

“Is it not in style in 1885?”

Yuuri chuckles, trying to hide his smile, “Surely you jest. You know well it is not.”

“I did not,” Victor responds, his face pointed wholly towards the gloves resting on the table. Even though Yuuri can’t see his face, his shoulders are tense enough to give Yuuri insight into his thoughts. “To think that I purchased them solely with the intention of giving my bride some pleasure on your wedding day, only to now discover that I have still managed to trespass against convention. I suppose this confirms that I was born to be contrary. Whatever will you do with me, Mr. Katsuki.”   

Yuuri licks his lips, feeling playful as he pokes at his husband’s arm. It seems the other guests are still too busy celebrating them to pay much attention.

“I cannot say what my _father_ will do with you, Earl Nikiforov. But I _can_ say that, despite the thoroughly misinformed decision on your part, I _am_ pleased and entreat you to call me by my proper name. As of this morning, lest you have such a poor memory, my darling, I am no longer Katsuki.”

Victor pauses to consider his words.

“’Tis true,” he says, a lightness to his voice that makes Yuuri feel a little punch drunk on the bliss of bantering with his husband. _His husband._ Even if this is a marriage both have come to in less than ideal circumstances, Yuuri is eager to make it work. All odds being against them, Yuuri still wants to win. “How noble of you to remind me. I suppose you should _still_ applaud yourself for doing such a fine job educating me yet again in how to best address you. Given the recent liberties you have taken, does that mean I may now call you Yuuri?”

“You may,” Yuuri smiles, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

“And should I much prefer to call you _darling_ in kind, may I be so allowed, _Yuuri_?”

“Alas, Victor, that would not do. We cannot both be _darling_. It would leave people to think we are the most unimaginative of couples. I will accept nothing less than a _dearest_.” Yuuri nods decisively, before continuing, “In private, you may refer to me as _precious_.”

“What of _treasure_?” Victor teases. 

“I have yet to decide,” Yuuri whispers, flushing light pink. “But I am open to being convinced. My position is wholly intractable on _honey_ , however. That would just not do.”

"I'm sure we'll have much opportunity to discuss the merits of _honey_ ," Victor hums. His fingers flex around the stem of a tapered glass. He slowly retreats his hand. 

For the first time that morning, Yuuri notices that Victor has naturally not taken a drink nor bite of anything in front of him. He wonders why Victor would choose such an intractable mask on their wedding day. The mask covers his entire face, leaving him completely unable to enjoy any of the festivities, after all. Meanwhile, all around them, everyone continues to enjoy the morning's feast. 

“Are you thirsty?” Yuuri asks him, more serious this time. “Hungry?”

“I had a bite and some water before coming to the ceremony,” Victor tells him, unconcerned. “I am fine, Yuuri.”

“I had not thought once that you might not be able to enjoy any of the feast because of the mask. I apologize for my lack of consideration for you, Victor. I will endeavor to do better as your spouse. Perhaps it is time we make our leave. I’ll make note to Sara and Yuuko that I should go change into my travel clothes now.”

“Do not apologize, Yuuri. Pray enjoy yourself for as long as you like. This is all for you, after all.”

“No, no,” Yuuri shakes his head. When he makes eye contact with Yuuko, he gives her a quick nod. “I will be ready shortly,” he tells his husband when Yuuko and Sara come over to pull him away from the table. More compliments are thrown his way, like flower petals, as he walks down the length of half the table towards his childhood bedroom for one last time.

.

Hiroko kisses Yuuri’s cheek, giving him one last hug. Mari hands his luggage to the driver, who adds it to Victor’s many bags. As is customary, nobody knows where they’ll go for their honeymoon, but they’re expected to leave together for a month or so, just enough before returning for the start of the social season and Victor’s London home. It is then that Yuuri will don his wedding dress one more time to be presented at the Queen’s Court.

“We will see you soon,” Hiroko says, smile bright on her face.

Yuuri nods. He’s nervous, watching as, next to him, Victor and his father shake hands.

When he’s lifted into the carriage by Victor, Yuuri registers the rain of rice showering over them. He laughs, unable to hide his joy. Victor seems to be shaking, either with laughter or mirth. Yuuri can’t tell, but he can feel, for the first time, that they’re both nervous. It’s heartening to know he’s not alone in his feelings. For a man that had come to Yuuri so wholly against marriage and convention, Victor seems eager to please today. _But,_ he thinks, _perhaps it’s only a show. It would not do for him to seem anything else than elated on his wedding day, least of all with almost all the guests being mine. It would be an insult to the kindness of my family and my virtue._

“Are you comfortable?” Victor asks him, pulling off his wedding gloves.

Yuuri nods, hands resting on his skirts. He brushes them down. 

“Then, to the train station,” Victor orders the driver as he closes the door.

"To the train station," Yuuri repeats to himself, turning his attention to the window. He watches his friends and family wave them off, and wonders what will ultimately come of his new union with Victor.

After Yuuri loses sight of the guests, he turns to Victor. 

"Victor?" 

"Yes, Yuuri?" Victor sighs, resting back against the cushioned seat. 

"When do I get to see your face?" he asks meekly, trying not to betray his excitement. Yuuri is naturally curious, even if reserved. He's heard too many stories to not be scared, but he also wants to  _know_ what his husband looks like.  

"When we reach Mayberry Manor," Victor responds. "We should be there by early night time, seeing as we have left earlier than I expected. Although..."

"Although?" Yuuri sits up, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Victor chuckles, "Perhaps, if we can tuck the curtains very tightly to the windows, you might be able to see me now. Although, it would be a considerable risk."

"Then we mustn't," Yuuri says, decisive. "I can wait."

Victor hums, "If you say so,  _dearest_."

"I do," Yuuri reassures him, turning back to the window. After a beat of silence, he speaks again, "Victor?"

"Yes?"

"N-nothing. I just, I got nervous for a minute. Sorry."

Victor responds by reaching for one of his hands and squeezing it gently.

**TBC**


	4. Or Just Confusing You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come ask questions or ask for sneak peeks at cuttlemefish.tumblr.com. For those that have been asking, I posted about the mood songs for this story over here: https://cuttlemefishwrites.tumblr.com/post/171640915924/songs-for-spirits-dancing-in-the-night.

Yuuri wakes as the carriage comes to a rolling stop. He groans softly, pushing his shoulders back before peeking out the window to find that it’s already nighttime. Yuuri turns to find Victor staring out his own window, the mask barely catching some errant moon rays.

“We’re here,” he tells Yuuri, just as he opens the door to step out. Yuuri waits patiently, unsure whether he should follow or not. When Victor’s hand isn’t extended to him, he inches closer towards the door, only to jump back when Viktor’s head pops back in. “Would you rather sleep in the carriage this evening, Yuuri?”

“No,” Yuuri whispers quickly, licking his lips. The brusque tone with which his husband addresses him leaves him feeling a little shaken, but he pretends otherwise. Instead, Yuuri brushes his hands over his travel pants. _It wouldn’t do to look anything less than presentable to the staff,_ he thinks to himself, but it’s hard to focus. There’s a fog that surrounds the house, thick and strange, more like a mood than the veil of night. Once on the ground, Yuuri feels a little lost as he looks around him. The manor in front of him towers over them both, looking less like a home than a palace thanks to the rounded tower-like columns housing the windows. In a way, there’s this eeriness that permeates his senses, alerting him to the fact that the stillness and quiet of the grounds are almost unnatural. He stares shamelessly. Even the red-brick color of the house looks at odds with its design and age, but he accepts it, thinking that the house, much like him, looks like a London transplant. “It’s lovely,” he tries to compliment out of politeness.

Victor seems unconvinced; Yuuri feels guilty.

Around them, the driver is already unloading their bags and carrying them into the house.

“Well, come along, then. I’m sure you must be tired. It was quite a long trip for an already busy day,” Victor hums, leading Yuuri towards the cement stairs ahead. Yuuri climbs them behind Victor, but stops short at the door. “Welcome to Mayberry Manor. After you.”

“Surely you do _not_ intend to imply that I will walk over the threshold by foot,” Yuuri arches an eyebrow. He’s tired and cranky, not to mention hungry. The implication is insult to injury. “It is not enough that you didn’t plan a proper honeymoon; you now dare to—”

Victor huffs, lifting Yuuri with a flourish before he can finish. It leaves him a little breathless and disoriented as his husband’s chest rumbles with a laugh and pulls him into the house. Yuuri rests his hands on Victor’s shoulders, measuring the broadness with a sweep of his fingers. His husband has good form, that he can admit, even if only quietly in his head. He can only imagine that Victor must be handsome behind the mask. Nothing else seems to fit.

“Shall I carry you all the way to your bedroom?” Victor asks, hefting him higher. 

“Welcome back, Sir. And, welcome to Mayberry Manor, Countess Nikiforov.”

Yuuri squeaks, turning quickly to find three earnest faces staring back at him. He recognizes their driver among them. The set of three stand in ceremony, waiting to be addressed. Victor has enough modesty to set him down, addressing his staff with unrecognizable and, perhaps, an almost startling level of familiarity. It would verge on the indecent, were it not for the patience with which the three seem to suffer through it with equal levels of affection.

“Georgi and Isabella, thank you for following the instructions I sent forth in advance of our arrival. I worried perhaps the house would be empty on arrival. May I introduce you to your new mistress. I am sure Yuuri will began preparations with each of you in the coming days to determine how he wants to run the house. I ask that you treat him with the same respect and care with which you have treated me. Pray, listen to his requests to ensure that we may turn this unruly house into more of a home. I’m sure that, despite the initial hiccups we may encounter, this will ultimately lead to less work for all three of you. Yuuri, if I may, this is Isabella; she does much of the shopping in town and takes care of our meals. She will help you, should you have any need for assistance. She also acts as a housekeeper of sorts—assisting Georgi—to keep track of some of our other morning staff. Georgi is our butler. He will assist in our morning preparations, much like a valet, and stand by for anything specific you might need. He oversees much of the daily maintenance and other aspects of basic upkeep for the home. We have considerable and valuable pieces of art and other items that we keep, some ours and those of others. Georgi will be a good resource, should you have any questions about the house and where you are and are _not_ allowed to be for now.”

“There are parts of the house that will be off access to me?” Yuuri asks, confused.

The staff look mildly uncomfortable. He can tell almost instantly that he’s asked a sensitive question. Victor’s shoulders tense as well.

 _How can there be parts of my new home I cannot access?_ he thinks, eyes flickering around the room. It’s an escape mechanism; a habit he’s had since he was young, to try to search for a substitute to his present reality. For a minute, he fixates on Isabella—pretty and young, dressed pristine in a set of service clothes. It’s not that Yuuri is jealous. He’s just curious. 

“I will explain further once we are alone. But there are quite a number of rules we follow in Mayberry Manor. Georgi will help you remember them all. Lastly, Emil is our chauffeur. He assists with errands and the general maintenance of the outside grounds, as well. These three stay in the residence for the largest portion of the day, well into the night, at which time it will be your duty to dismiss them. The rest of our staff arrives promptly at sunrise and depart just shortly after noon. Often, I let Isabella and Georgi go at the same time. Emil is the only one who is on call at all hours. However, during evening hours, he rests by the small cabin you would’ve seen near the main gate. You will get used to the system in due time.”

“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you,” Yuuri addresses them, his mind buzzing with questions. “I am sure we will become well-acquainted in due time. My experience with household staff is limited, having only had exposure to three or so in my own home. I ask you to have patience with me. Pray, take care of us.”

The staff nods.

“I am sure there will be time come morning for additional introductions,” Victor nods. “You are now dismissed.”

“Pardon, Sir,” Isabella asks, remaining respectful despite the familiarity coloring her voice. “I took the liberty of making a small dinner. Should we serve the food?”

“I will do it myself,” Victor waves them off. Yuuri is surprised, but remains quiet. “You are all dismissed for the day. We will see you come morning.”

Yuuri watches as the three servants give him a soft smile and make their way to the door. Once they’re gone, it’s just Yuuri and Viktor and a large, expansive home. Much like Yuuri’s childhood home in London, the house has a series of gas light fixtures all around. Considering the location of the manor outside of the city and removed from the nearby town, Yuuri had expected something less sophisticated.

“Electricity is a limited option, but I hope soon to replicate Shaw’s Craigside and buy more of Swan’s lamps to cover almost all the house,” Victor explains, walking ahead towards an adjacent room. Yuuri soon finds that it’s the dining room. The table is set. Yuuri wonders if it always is, ready for any potential visitors. He’d grown up hearing of the stories of Mayberry Manor—the grand parties, the salons and dinners, and, above all, the very few who were ever invited. “Sit, Yuuri. I’ll bring out our dinner shortly.”

“Is there no place where we might just sit in the warmth of the kitchen?” Yuuri asks meekly. His family had been in the habit of eating at the dinner table. But their usual table sat approximately eight, perhaps a few more if his mother carefully organized the seating arrangements for a dinner party. The Katsuki home, despite their station, had been made for family life, not hosting. Such pleasures had been left to their summer, country estates—and even then the idea of hosting had been more a vacation for the visitor than a labor of social etiquette. However, Victor’s table is overwhelming. He doesn’t feel that two people alone should ever sit around it.

 _This is a house made for a large family_ , Yuuri thinks to himself. As far as Yuuri is concerned, Earl Nikiforov lives in Mayberry Manor close to year-round, only venturing into London during portions of the social season. He can only imagine that the first family to inhabit the estate would have enjoyed the comforts of many visitors and happy children.

“There is a small table in the kitchen, if you’d rather eat there.”

. 

Yuuri expects that Victor will take off his mask during dinner. He doesn’t. Instead, he finishes setting the table for Yuuri and then proceeds to watch Yuuri eat. He serves him with the ease and knowledge of a man that has to take care of himself often enough, and Yuuri wonders if he’ll have to train all of Victor’s staff to take care of their master.  

“More tea?” he asks Yuuri, already putting more water to boil.

“Yes, thank you,” Yuuri whispers. He dabs at his lips with a cloth napkin, unsure what he’d expected of his first night as a married man. Certainly, it wasn’t to have his husband take on the role of maid. And yet, for an alpha, there’s a fluidity to Victor’s movements. He’s exceedingly comfortable in the kitchen, more so than Yuuri has seen him anywhere else. Victor doesn’t even seem to mind the potential for ashes to dirty his clothes as he checks on the fireside behind Yuuri.

For the first time, Yuuri catches a whiff of Victor’s scent.

 _You’re happy here_. It’s a strange juxtaposition that Victor, the Earl of Mayberry, should feel so comfortable in quarters typically built for the service. And Mayberry Manor’s kitchen is most certainly _built_ for a staff, not a family.

“I was born in this kitchen,” Victor tells him as he butters some bread for Yuuri. Yuuri takes it gratefully with a soft blush inking his cheeks pink. “Right in that corner.”

“That’s surprising,” Yuuri says. “I can’t imagine Lady Lilia spending a considerable amount of time here.”

“Well, Lady Lilia isn’t exactly my birth mother,” Victor hums, resting a hand over his chin.

The discovery weighs heavy on Yuuri.

“Your mother was a maid,” he guesses with ease.

“And my father a groundskeeper. The Mayberry line is not necessarily one of blood,” Victor explains. “But I suppose we can give you a history lesson in the morning; let me bring you more tea. Your scent is starting to show.”

“Oh,” Yuuri winces, sensing it as well. There’s a slightly sour tone that screams distress. He doesn’t exactly feel distressed, but his body has a way of getting ahead of Yuuri and yelling anxiety before the rest of him. “I’m not, that is, I feel fine. Happy. That you should trust me already.”

“”Tis no secret, only a highly discouraged rumor,” Victor dismisses him. “And happy is certainly _not_ how you feel. It’s fine. You need not hide your emotions. It has been a long day, only natural you should feel tired and anxious after so many changes. And now, here you are, with an almost stranger. Not to mention, around now, most anyone would need to freshen up. I’m sure I don’t smell particularly comfortable, either.”

“You do, actually,” Yuuri hums.

The meal is delicious, even if simple. It’s a hearty soup made of some leeks and potatoes, with a few other vegetables. He has a hard time imaging that the decadent diners described by people could ever be so simple, but he’s heartened in the knowledge that they will not always be expected to live in extravagance. That is, until Victor speaks and says, “I asked Isabella to make something light for the evening, something simple to accommodate the long hours of travel. I figured we have time to introduce you to Mayberry cuisine at a later time.”

“That was thoughtful.” Yuuri swallows hard, locking eyes with Victor. “Will you not eat?”

“I will snack on something once I’ve shown you upstairs,” Victor draws circles around the tabletop with his finger. His stomach growls, and Yuuri worries at his bottom lip. “I’m sure you’ll want a minute undisturbed to ready yourself for bed. I will do my best to be unobtrusive when I retire for bed, but there is a bedroom to the right of mine own, which is open and available to you should you rather have your own space. I will not be slighted in the least by your decision.”

“I am married, Sir. I have no intention of sleeping anywhere where my husband does not lie,” Yuuri responds. “I’ve a mind to demand you eat something now. But I will be kind and assume it is wedding night nerves. Could it be that you are too shy to show me your face just yet, Victor?”

Victor gasps.

“Well,” he says, his voice almost a purr, “perhaps, I admit it is not quite a wholly familiar feeling. I have not been so vulnerable in a very long time. It’s a first of sorts.”

Yuuri flushes a bright shade of red and averts his eyes from Victor. By now, Yuuri is starting to learn not to tease his husband. They’re matched in wit and enthusiasm, with Victor so easy and quick to follow wherever Yuuri might lead. _He meets me where I’m at_ , he sighs to himself.

“A first of sorts,” Yuuri repeats, arching an eyebrow. “Am I to be appeased to be told by my own husband that I am a second choice to whichever harlot once joined his bed?—It’s in poor taste to mention anyone that is not the bride on the wedding night.”

Victor draws back, sitting straight. He reminds Yuuri of a chided schoolboy. Yuuri can peek at the remnants of a barely there blush that extends down underneath Victor’s jaw. He feels satisfied, knowing he has had some effect on his husband. Yuuri should probably try to better understand his own emotions, but, for now, he’s content just to bask in the idea of being married. Even as a child, having presented at ten, Yuuri had been the type to think of his potential future union with fondness—having as an example the image of marital bliss in his parents.

“Well, I—that is to say, I meant no insult. I apologize—”

Yuuri smiles, “Victor, I’m only saying it in jest. Do not worry yourself. I imagined as much, when I first met you, that you’d had your share of lovers. Although I do not, on principle, approve of anyone that sees sex as sport, less than a gift for procreation, I am cognizant that my role within this marriage—and as chosen by Her Majesty—will be to groom you into the type of alpha you have the potential to be. So it is said that the true nature and talent of a good omega is to bring out with patient love and piety the best in their alpha spouse.”

“Only alphas?”

“Betas have natural instincts diverging from our own. They represent the balance of the universe, a window into a set of rituals so unlike our own that we cannot even assume an omega or an alpha could steer them from the path of their own nature.”

“And I should expect that you believe omegas should aim to _only_ marry alphas? – so as to make them better, soothe their sharp, uncouth edges, nay violent tendencies with omega gentility and propriety,” Victor scoffs.

“Not all. But we must be respectful of the hierarchy and understand well our position. You may fight me now, but you will see that with a gentle touch, you, too, will come to see that marriage is an institution made to make us both better. I will calm your worries and you will soothe my fears. You will provide security to me and our future children and I will make a home for you, where before there was only a house.”

“Where do you get this rubbish from? What nonsense has been fed to you for years!”

Yuuri gasps, “I beg your pardon? It is _not_ rubbish. The natural instincts that underscore the tools through which we fashion our married life is not _nonsense._ And I will have you know, Sir, that I was schooled in the best institutions for male omegas in England and France. I am an example of what education can do! I am well-versed in multiple languages, dance, and music—”

“And a most apt mathematician. A mind so great, I have never read again.”

“You have read me?” Yuuri blinks, terror seeping into his body. He’d been warned that smart omegas did not wed easily.

“I have, immediately upon our engagement, and now feel ashamed that I expected better. Here you are, certainly an example of the exclusionary nature of a hierarchy that would so seek to brainwash its omegas into submission to please the fragile egos of male alphas that might believe in their natural superiority.”

“To be educated of the biological differences which mark our personalities is not to imply a predestination towards weakness, but to better understand how we can be our best selves,” Yuuri whispers, his whole body shaking.

“And is this what a good omega does?” Victor challenges, his voice thin and annoyed. He presses a shaky hand against his forehead, “Does a good omega argue with their alpha?”

Yuuri purses his lips into a thin line, looking down at his hands in shame instantly.

“I pray for your forgiveness, my lord. I shall endeavor—”

“Endeavor in nothing,” Victor cuts him off, his voice a decibel under a yell. “Be who you are with me. Challenge me. Fight me. Stress your will and talents and brilliance, beyond this marriage, beyond me. Pray do not impose on me the impossible challenge of _making_ your happiness. I do not expect you to be responsible for _my_ happiness. Give me the same courtesy.”

Yuuri looks up, surprised.

“Yuuri, if we must speak of roles and expectations, you must understand that you are now part of a line of powerful omegas,” Victor says, standing. “I ask only that you live up to that great honor with the earnest will, passion, and pride that you show towards every other facet of your nature.”

. 

They make their way to the bedroom in silence.

Along the way, Victor tries to identify for him what rooms are off-limits and which ones can only be visited with Victor. Yuuri is sure he won’t remember the instructions in the morning. But, he won’t need much. The garden will be plenty comfortable once they enter warmer seasons. For now, a library will suit his studies fine. Now that he knows his husband doesn’t mind his studies, Yuuri feels an ease and liberation he hadn’t expected. It’s easily squashed by the voice in his head reminding him that he is in Mayberry Manor to be a good spouse to his alpha, not a student.

“I will be up shortly,” Victor tells Yuuri before leaving him in their room alone. “As I said, if you’d rather sleep alone, the room adjoining this one is plenty comfortable. I will not be slighted by your decision.”

Yuuri reaches for Victor’s wrist, pressing it once.

“Be expedient. Do not keep me waiting,” Yuuri demands. “Perhaps, unlike me, you do not believe in the security an alpha gives his omega, but I am of an anxious constitution. Please, do not leave me alone for long.”

Victor sighs, closing the door behind him.

“Then I will not leave you at all,” he says. “I am sorry you will not have a lady’s maid here to assist you at the end of the day. You will have to trust in me to help you prepare each night. May I assist you?”

Yuuri gulps, unsure why his heart is hammering so hard and fast. He nods, stepping backwards closer to the center of the room. Victor follows him. Standing close, covered by the night’s shadows, Yuuri feels emboldened as he reaches up to press both hands on either side of Victor’s face.

Victor doesn’t move to stop him as Yuuri lifts the mask from his face. It feels like he’s been waiting years, instead of days, to see his new husband. Victor assists him, removing the bands stuck to his ears. They laugh softly, unable to contain their mutual excitement. Yuuri’s chest purrs unconsciously, the happiness bubbling within him rising higher into his throat and through his mouth to gasp in surprise. Victor is beautiful. All of Yuuri’s fears dissipate instantly. Here is his husband, with his strong jaw and high cheekbones; with his blue eyes and long, blonde lashes to match his eyebrows; with his impish nose and delicate cupid’s bow; and, with his smile, soft and gentle and never reaching the rest of his face. Yuuri explores Victor’s face with his fingers, pressing the pads gently over his cheeks and his forehead.

“You’re the first in twenty years,” Victor confesses softly and Yuuri feels so much emotion in his chest that he can only pull him into a kiss.

.

Yuuri is surprised that they don’t commit to actual intercourse. They kiss for a short while before Victor helps Yuuri to wash, slip into his nightdress, and comb his hair. It’s a different kind of intimacy Yuuri hadn’t expected on his wedding night, but he appreciates the patience Victor shows him as he draws back the covers and entreats Yuuri to get into bed. Yuuri knows it’s silly that he would look to wear a cover for his neck at night, but he does, unsure that he’s ready for Victor to see his scent gland.

Yuuri expects that, as soon as their both in bed, Victor will roll him onto his back, push up his nightdress, and claim him. Instead, Victor brushes back Yuuri’s hair and goes to get himself ready for bed. When he returns, he slips into the right side and turns to face Yuuri. They stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Should I turn on my back?” Yuuri asks. His voice is thin and small, with all his vulnerability shining through.

This is a _first_ for Yuuri.

It’s the night he’s expected with the anxious dread instilled to all respectable omegas and betas, who have been taught that “marriage hygiene” must be achieved through the use of intercourse only for procreation and the simple, unavoidable necessity of keeping a husband’s interest. Yuuri has a duty tonight. Tomorrow, he will be able to impose his own rules—all to keep in line with the recommendations given to his gender. _Intercourse only twice a week, so as to appease your husband_ , he’d been told, in the silence of controversial advice freely given and passed down among others in his position. _Thereafter, you can feign a headache, find your own excuses. Take this book. It will teach you what you need to know._ And Yuuri remembers fear, because he’d spoken once to Minako, through blushing embarrassment, about intercourse, and the voice in his mind (incorrigible as ever) had sent him into a spiral with a simple phrase: _What if you like it?_

And, what would Yuuri do if he suddenly enjoyed intimacy with his husband? The rules were clear. Purity and chastity, those were the elements that made him precious and respected, that protected him from being lumped with those in lower station than himself. There was no in-between, no gray area for him to hide. Would Victor judge him now for being so bold? – An omega requesting to sleep with his own husband. Now, an omega wishing to be bed by his own husband. The shame was too much to bear. It settled in his chest and pressed down, and sent his scent souring around them both.  

“For what?” Victor whispers, “Be at ease, Yuuri. It’s been a long day. Rest. Tomorrow we can speak of expectations and duties. Tonight, just rest.”

“But,” Yuuri reminds him, almost panicky, “it is our wedding night.”

“And no one will come in the morning to check our bedsheets for proof that we have consummated our marriage,” Victor smiles. “Yuuri, think of Mayberry Manor as a shelter from the world. Here, it is just you and me. And we set the rules. Let nothing pressure you or bring you fear. Now, sleep well.”

Yuuri hears him but can’t phantom the possibility of sleep. He’s stuck in that moment, staring at the ceiling and wondering what he did to offend his husband on their first night.   

. 

“You can’t sleep?” Victor groans a few hours later, perhaps sensing his discomfort.

“No, I’m sorry. Am I moving too much? I’ll try to be stiller.”

“What troubles you?” Victor sighs, sitting up to turn on the bedside gas lamp. In the soft glow of the room, Yuuri can read his exhaustion. “No, wait, I’m sure I can guess. You’re worried we have yet to consummate our first night together.”

“I amuse you,” Yuuri pouts.

“You do,” Victor stretches. He turns on his side, resting his head on his palm to stare down at Yuuri. Yuuri feels his belly flip at the sight of his husband admiring him, studying him in the softness of the light. He wants to reach up and kiss him again, and feels so much guilt for _wanting_ , especially considering he’s known Victor for so little and the superficiality of his desire. “Why, _dearest_ ,” Victor teases, licking his lips as Yuuri’s scent permeates the room.

Yuuri wonders why Victor’s scent is so controlled. He can barely make it out. A scent that floats through the room but doesn’t coat it – like it’s being coated by the fog of something else.

“I, I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, turning away and covering his head with the covers.

Victor laughs, his hand gentle as it kneads Yuuri’s covered shoulder.

“It’s flattering,” he tells Yuuri. “It’s quite flattering, Yuuri, that you should react that way towards me. I hope you do not think me unaffected. You’re beautiful and I am not unaware.”

Yuuri pulls the covers down, only a slight.

Victor beams, taking the opportunity to coax him with more compliments. He whispers sweet things, peppering love around Yuuri, until Yuuri can only respond by coming out of his cocoon of blankets. He lets out a tentative breath, looking up at Victor, who is now so close, Yuuri can feel the warmth radiating from his face against his cheek.

“Then, if you truly think all those pretty things of me, why?”

“Perhaps I am of a fragile ego, too, that I would want such a beauty to want me in earnest, against the insurmountable pressures of the wedding night. Is it too hard to belief that I might wish to fall into the pleasure of your desire, not your obligations?”

Yuuri’s lips part slightly.

“And you think this to be but obligation?” Yuuri questions him, chest heaving as he seeks to shift closer.

“What else could it be?” Victor says with a wink. “Better to wait. See if, come morning, your nature calls you to gift your husband with something so precious.”

“Victor,” Yuuri admonishes him, brow furrowed as he lets his hand curl around his husband’s neck. “I think it very childish of you to keep me waiting for your own benefit. It is rightly selfish. I think you do me a great disservice and should consider carefully how you are to make it up to me.”

Victor’s face goes slack with surprise. It gives Yuuri a shiver of satisfaction to see his husband’s efforts so derailed.

“And, pray,” Victor blinks rapidly, his voice sputtering with nerves, “how exactly should I aim to make up for my egoism?”

“Touch me.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: They bang. Victor gives Yuuri a crash course on the story of the house and title. To Yuuri’s eternal blush, they talk about (GASP) contraception (ohmygod, that’s illegal during their times)! And then Yuuri begins his life in Mayberry Manor. Why the hell is the house so weird? STAY TUNED.


	5. Masquerade the Heart

Victor follows instructions beautifully. He looks surprised by Yuuri’s demand, but simply responds by dipping his head down to brush their lips together.

The kiss is gentle, so gentle that Yuuri barely registers anything other than the shared breath between them. Yuuri arches his back, trying to follow Victor’s mouth when they break apart. He wants so desperately to linger in Victor’s taste, but, instead, he gives in to the light press of Victor’s hand as he’s pushed back down until his head hits the pillow with a flourish. He smiles up at Victor, nervous and eager all at once. _What if you enjoy it_ , the voice in his head says. Is it uncouth to smile? – It’s a moot point the second Victor’s lips curls into a smile, too. In Yuuri’s eyes, he shines so brightly, practically ethereal when the rays of the moon hit his hair. He thinks, _this must be what it’s like to hold a shooting star_ , except his hands lie idly by his sides, even as Victor’s own begin to map the thickness of Yuuri’s thighs.

Yuuri feels in excruciating detail the way soft fabric glides higher up from his knees to the meat his thighs, bunching up by his hips. Victor’s finger pads flutter over every inch of skin like kisses, dipping and crawling with the finesse of silk. Drowning in the feeling, Yuuri welcomes Victor by spreading his legs. It’s an automatic reaction. He waits with bated breath, unsure what to do, when to move, how to ask—all the things he has rehearsed in his mind and now look faint in the fog of his desire. When Victor settles between his legs, Yuuri anchors him close with a cross of his ankles. _Don’t go, stay near always,_ he says with his body. He’s never done anything like this before and he worries his clumsy attempts at seduction may do more harm than good, but, every few seconds, Victor looks at his face like he’s mapping out every feeling Yuuri has then.

Fragility has never come naturally to Yuuri; it should have with his nature, but it doesn’t. Unlike the other omegas he’d known, Yuuri hadn’t been wispy. He’d been of a firmer stock; the son of merchants and landowners, who’d tried hard to wash away their degrees with the green of money. Now, here is Yuuri, the culmination of all their efforts—married to an Earl, with a title and fortune, no more or less pretty than the average. And yet, the look Victor gives him is one of want so pure and adoration so cleat that Yuuri feels his body’s thirst with the certainty of a man parched in the desert being presented with an oasis. It’s more than anything his family might have dreamed and still so much more difficult than any of them would’ve known.   

“Let go,” Victor says, tapping gently at Yuuri’s leg. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuri chooses to exert trust, loosening his hold. He rests idly and watches Victor.  

“Let me take care of you,” Victor whispers, pressing a kiss to his lips before moving down his collarbone and jaw.

When his thumb brushes over the tip of Yuuri’s nipple and presses, Yuuri matches the force with the arch of his back. He seeks the same warmth all over, sighing contently as Victor takes one bud, then the next into his mouth. He wets the fabric with his tongue, lolling over Yuuri’s left areola, and leaving a trail of kisses further down and down—until Yuuri can’t keep track anymore. When he sits up, he raises his arms and Victor easily pulls off Yuuri’s night gown. The thin fabric falls over the edge of the bed.

Exposed, Yuuri shivers as he waits, watching anxiously as Victor, too, removes his nightshirt and gives him a clear view at his hardening penis. It curls towards his lower belly and Yuuri considers for a second—with distress—how exactly it’s supposed to _fit_ inside him. Victor takes note of his scent immediately, reaching for his cheeks to bring their foreheads bumping together.

“Don’t worry,” Victor smiles, moving away for a minute to reach for something in his bedside table, “I know what to do. This will make things go smoothly.”

Yuuri nods. _Touch me_ , he’d said, so sure of himself. Now, he feels but a quarter of the same boldness. Victor coats his hand with some smooth, glossy liquid, and Yuuri hiccups, closing his eyes tightly as he expects Victor’s fingers to brush over his puckering hole. It’s already wet, waiting, expecting, yet Victor’s hand grazes over the inside of his thigh.

“Look at me,” Victor coaxes, letting his hand reach higher until it can grasp Yuuri’s member firmly. “This will help to take off the edge.”

Yuuri gasps. The sensation is familiar and yet different, but he pretends with soft, keening noises that his enjoyment is part of discovery rather than recognition. It’s not that Yuuri hadn’t tried to touch himself before; he’d just been limited in opportunity. Somehow, touching himself like this, hand gliding up and down, thumb rolling over the pink head, had felt more acceptable than digging his fingers deep to discover the bits of pleasure seldom shared in polite conversation.

“Victor,” he groans, trying to cover his eyes with his arm as he rests against the back of the bed. Victor removes his arm, locking eyes with him. “Victor,” Yuuri gasps again, breathing heavy as he feels long fingers dance over his hot skin.

His orgasm feels uneventful.

It happens so fast, Yuuri is left spinning in the wake of the afterglow. He questions if it happened at all, remembering more a white light than any emotion or feeling—like his body was so preoccupied with the invitation to experience pleasure, it barely registered the main event. Yuuri knows this was no fault of Victor; his mind had been wandering, fixated on the fear and nerves to enjoy much of anything.

Victor’s hand is soiled, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He simply wipes it with the sheet and Yuuri watches horrified that, come morning, the maid might see it, too.

“Take a moment,” Victor tells him, using his clean hand to run his fingers though Yuuri’s hair. “You were quite spun up with tension.”

Victor’s words ring true as an aftermath. If Yuuri’s mind had been a mess of jumbled thoughts before, now it is a straight line. Everything is still white and light. Yuuri sighs contently, feeling boneless and only too happy to follow instructions for now.

.

No one ever told Yuuri what to expect as an omega.

The few books he’d been gifted by Minako had detailed information on how to avoid intercourse, not how to enjoy it. Thus, it is a thoroughly bewildering experience for Yuuri to have Victor’s fingers inside him, exploring a part of his body Yuuri has barely even felt comfortable enough to touch with a washcloth. When Victor brushes against a particularly delightful spot, Yuuri goes rigid and his hand flies to wrap around Victor’s wrist in panic.

“Take deep breaths. I can feel you beginning to contract against my fingers again,” Victor coaches him, voice soft and gentle as he presses a few more kisses against Yuuri’s forehead.

“I can’t,” Yuuri whines. “Victor, I can’t. You mustn’t ask more of me.”

“You can,” Victor promises him and Yuuri feels his hardness against his thigh. It’s the first time Yuuri realizes that Victor has been incredibly patient, setting aside his own pleasure to help Yuuri discover his own. “Trust me.”

Sweat pools on his brow as he tries to breathe. It’s not that Yuuri is in any pain or discomfort, but the feeling is unfamiliar and the press of Victor’s finger pads against his insides causes his entire body to sing in some unfamiliar language that sends him scrambling back to their bedroom for familiarity. Each time, he finds Victor staring back at him with a look soft yet unreadable.   

Yuuri’s not sure that he can orgasm like this again, but he does. He welcomes the feeling like an old friend. And, when he comes back, there’s Victor, still watching him with that unreadable expression.

.

“Faster,” Yuuri pants, mouth open and wanting.

Victor rolls his hips down again, reaching down to kiss him. Yuuri begs some more, drinking in every breath and gasp that spools from Victor’s mouth. When Victor anchors both his arms on either side of Yuuri’s head to gain even greater leverage, Yuuri hooks a leg around his husband’s waist to pull him even deeper—deep enough that they might both finally fall over the precipice of yearning into the cooling waters of their pleasure. Yuuri traces with the tip of his nose the line from Victor’s jaw and down the side of his neck until he can burrow into Victor’s scent gland. The smell is so much stronger there. It washes over Yuuri like a wave, crashing into his consciousness and rooting deep.

Victor groans, “so domineering, my Yuuri,”

“Please,” Yuuri begs, eyes fogged with the vision of Victor’s pink cheeks and frunced brow. His concentration is admirable. “Victor. Please.”

Victor flips them expertly and rolls them over so that Yuuri may rest on top of his husband. The moment Yuuri realizes their change in position, he finds himself sitting and the sudden impalement sends his voice—hoarse as it is—scratching for release. Victor’s hands rest on his hips, helping him to move. Yuuri flails his arms and Victor feels his panic. He moves to sit, too, reaching for Yuuri’s arms to wrap them around his neck.

“Just hold on,” he tells him softly.

And Yuuri follows his instructions, until he’s rutting in place—desperate and eager with the burn of his impending release. Victor’s lips graze around the lace of his neck cover. His teeth nip gently at the cloth, from time to time reaching some of the sensitive skin there.

“I can taste you,” Victor grins against Yuuri’s neck.

“So can I,” Yuuri confirms for Victor, pausing for a moment to stare into his husband’s blue eyes. It’s not a lie. Victor’s scent is thick now. It coats over him. “All over me, all around me, you’re everywhere.”

When they finally orgasm, Yuuri is silently pleased at the feeling of his husband’s knot inflating and holding them together. He falls against Victor’s chest, smiling happily against the beat of Victor’s heart. He counts each beat with kisses and tastes the salty remains of sweat clinging to Victor’s skin. _Everywhere_ , he thinks again, _you’re everywhere._

“What are you thinking?” Victor asks him after a few minutes. He rubs soothing circles over Yuuri’s lower back.

“How you taste like winter just before spring hits,” Yuuri says, trying to hide his blush against Victor’s sternum.

.

Yuuri can’t stop smiling. It’s a strange feeling as he watches the sunrise through his window and holds the sheet tighter to his form. Victor lies cross-side by the foot of the bed, reaching for Yuuri’s ankle beneath the sheet. He presses a kiss to the juncture of Yuuri’s bone. It’s reverent and kind, and Yuuri can only watch with an even bigger smile and a pink flush. The pink inks across his cheeks and down his collarbone, lower still as Victor begins to trail his lips up his calf and then higher towards his knee again. Yuuri wishes it didn’t awaken his urges again; he wriggles, trying to make himself comfortable. It’s a craving he never imagined.

 _What if you like it_ , he thinks, ordering the voice to shut up. By this point, it’s not a question anymore. Yuuri had never imagined he could be so hungry. His skin is parched, eager to drink from the essence of Victor’s kisses and the sweat of his body.  

“You said we were done,” Yuuri teases him, but makes no effort to retrieve his foot as Victor draws the shape of the arch with his fingers. He never thought he could love someone else’s hands as much as he loves the feeling of Victor’s on his skin.

“ _Are_ we done?” Victor hums against Yuuri’s inner thigh, having made it beneath the sheet. Yuuri tries to play coy and push the sheet down, but he gasps when he feels Victor nip at the sensitive skin there. His nose inches higher, tracing up towards Yuuri’s hip. And Yuuri is lost and wet.

“Victor,” he whines, trying to pull back for the first time. It’s morning now. Victor can both smell and see him—sense the heat radiating from his skin and take notes on where the red burrows.

“I think you have something for me,” Victor says, muffled beneath the sheets as he tries to untangle Yuuri’s legs to give him better access to all of him. “I’m just going to take a peek.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, pretending to be cross.

“I have nothing for you. You thoroughly exhausted me. Not a— _Victor_!”

Victor crawls back down and smirks as he locks eyes with his husband. Yuuri’s chest heaves rapidly. The shock is still evident on his face.

“Sir, that is no place for a tongue,” Yuuri admonishes him, gulping loudly.

“It isn’t, my _precious_ Yuuri? – I must have been very ill advised, then,” Victor tells him innocently. Yuuri knows better, though. He can see the glimmer of mischief trying to hide at the corner of Victor’s eyes. “Do educate me where my tongue should go instead?”

“At least not during morning hours,” Yuuri corrects himself, brushing his hands down the bedsheet covering his modesty. “You’re terrible.”

Victor laughs, crawling to Yuuri’s side. He’s still naked and very comfortable without anything to cover him. In the brightness of the room, Yuuri can see everything about him, right down to a few scars along his ribs. Faint as they are, they peak his curiosity.

“Don’t you dare kiss my lips now, Victor!”

“Does my morning breath offend?” Victor jokes, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s exposed shoulder blade.

“You know very well _what_ offends,” Yuuri frowns, shoving him back playfully. “You’re incorrigible, darling. What am I to do with such a zealous husband.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m zealous. I’m simply quite thorough.”

“And enthusiastic,” Yuuri chuckles, but can’t hide his happiness. This is more than he ever expected. “You’re a zealous husband. I have a feeling we will both suffer much for it. Now, I will surely worry if I have spoiled you.”

“Why should we suffer for it?” Victor murmurs against his skin. “I seem to remember you matched my enthusiasm most splendidly, dearest. I think, if anything, it is I who should worry.”

“You? It is not you who will need to come up with imaginative excuses not to—well, that is, not to,” Yuuri presses his hands against his cheeks. Victor looks confused. He tilts his head, staring at Yuuri. “You know.”

“I know what?”

“Surely, you’ve read the books,” Yuuri dismisses him.

Yuuri can still remember the first time 

Victor arches an eyebrow, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“What books?”

“The marriage hygiene books!”

Victor laughs, hearty and loud as he throws his head back.

“The _what_?”

Yuuri pouts, “Marriage hygiene? – Victor, surely, you’ve read them. There’s so many books, all detailing what is acceptable in a marriage and when… well, I admit I can’t think of anything specific now. But, as is acceptable, I may only allow you intercourse twice a week at most. Although, I suppose they’re typically only aimed at omegas. I did know a fair number of alphas and betas fascinated with the books, but most had access through a sibling or—”

Victor watches him in fascination.

“It took me hours to mollify you. Yet, in minutes the thought of a book alone has sent you into a spiral,” Victor whispers, tapping his chin. “I wonder if I should ban the book from our residence. It would not be an undeserved fate. Have you the book here with you?”

Yuuri nods, looking oddly nervous as he disengages from his husband’s side to toe his way to one of his bags. He opens it easily, pulling out a maroon book. Promptly, Yuuri returns to the bed to show his husband his treasure.

“I should burn it,” Victor tells him, tapping the cover with conviction.

“You shan’t!” Yuuri frowns. He hugs the book close to his chest. “That would be barbaric, not to mention entirely useless. I’ve read it all and remember it well.”

“Hm,” Victor licks his lips, setting the book aside. He reaches for Yuuri’s chin, holding it gently to bring him closer, “well, for what it’s worth: In my experience, the habitual bodily expression of love through the act of intercourse…”

Yuuri feels the way Victor’s free hand runs over the expanse of his thigh. The errant hand moves swiftly up his hip before reaching for his waist to pull him closer still. It leaves Yuuri scrambling to wrap his arms around Victor’s neck, letting the sheet pool around his hips.  

“…has a deeply enriching psychological effect that makes it possible to have complete mental sympathy for one another. It helps us to put into practice the spiritual synchronicity that must become lasting and comfortable so that we may trust each other to find equal joy in our relationship.”

“Is that so?” Yuuri whispers, lips quivering as the arm around his waist tightens even more.

“It is,” Victor smirks, letting his thumb press down on Yuuri’s bottom lip, “so wholly important and necessary that we should know our bodies while young that we may not miss it when the passion of youth gives way through the years to the companionship of the mind. Should I demonstrate?”

Yuuri licks his lips before he says, “please…”

.

They eat breakfast in the library, which apparently doubles as Victor’s study some days. It’s strange seeing Victor back in another one of his ornate masks. Yuuri sits on a chair by a table, picking at some bread as he admires the shape of Victor’s shoulders and trim waist as his husband moves here and there, picking books from everywhere. He leaves them in a pile by the table until they begin to tower over Yuuri.

“I alternate between working here and other parts of the house, but you may consider the library your space, should you want a place to work. If you’d rather something more removed, tell me and I will be sure to find you some adequate space that might better serve your needs. But, for now, I assume this will be fine.” Victor taps the tower of books, leaning over them to steal a piece of apple from Yuuri’s plate. Alone as they are, Yuuri imagines Victor feels safe enough to eat. He sticks the piece of apple under the mask, munching thoughtfully. “I’ve pulled out for you a few books I think you may find interesting. There is an additional chalk board and some chalk I can have brought in for your use.”

“That’s kind of you to think of me,” Yuuri thanks him, “but I think I should first become more acquainted with the everyday duties of the house before focusing too much on leisure. I am determined to make this a comfortable home for you, for us.”

“It is comfortable enough as is,” Victor sighs. “But you can do as you please. Although, you will find my needs are few. I rather enjoy a quiet house and tend to moods during which I rather be alone than in the company of a substantial staff. As you can see, their presence makes this less a home than a prison. With them around, I must keep the mask to cover my face.”

Yuuri nods, “I understand. Then, if that is so, I shall keep them to a strict schedule and attend to you myself. I may not seem like much, but I am quite capable—both in the kitchen and with a broom.”

“I cannot imagine that your parents would’ve ever let you sweep,” Victor says, amusement clear in his tone. He steps around the table to take Yuuri’s hands into his own, bringing them to press against the curve of the mask’s lips. “Such pretty, soft hands have never seen the splinters of a broomstick. I cannot phantom it.”

“Repetition helps keep me calm at times. I enjoyed having small tasks at home. I don’t do well being idle.”

“I do not expect you to become a maid for my comfort, Yuuri.”

“I know,” Yuuri worries at his bottom lip. “And I won’t. But, please, let me take care of you as I know you will try to take care of me.”

“I will. I promise you that you will not want for anything. My accounts are entirely at your disposal. Name it and it will be yours. Yuuri, _precious_ , _dearest_ , I will endeavor to be a good husband to you. I know I will fail often. And, you will have to forgive my faults. I can be particular and difficult and exacting to a fault. My love is hard at times, difficult on those I wish to protect; I pray you will be patient with me.”

“I will be, Victor,” Yuuri promises, reaching up to touch his husband’s cheek. The cold of the mask reminds him of their peculiar situation. Yuuri wonders if he will be strong and able to resist taking the mask off during the day to kiss his husband. “The circumstances that have brought us together might not be ideal, but they are ours to bear. I know you do not believe we should become the standard by which the other measures happiness, but I would still like to bring you joy. I hope you will let me.”

Victor breathes out in earnest, pacing away.

“I’m unsure you’ll feel the same when you come to understand what kind of monster you’ve come to marry. But I have had such little happiness in my life that, if I may be given the chance to be selfish for once, then I choose to be wholly uncompromising in keeping you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiles fondly and sits closer to the edge of the chair in his prettiest green dress. The skirts drown the chair. He beams prettily, the somberness of the moment lifting with the spotlight of Victor’s declaration. Yuuri certainly feels lighter—like he’s floating in the comfort of Victor’s kinder expectations.

They haven’t exchanged vows. Not really. But Victor might as well have declared his intentions to love Yuuri. For now, it’s enough. Maybe someday, it won’t be. Someday, Yuuri will ache with the desire to be consumed by love more than desire, by need more than want, but today _intention_ is enough _because_ of the promise of action. Someday, Victor will love Yuuri and Yuuri will love him. They will be just fine. The knowledge of that one fact is enough for Yuuri.

.

They take a break to nurse their respective cups of morning tea. Or, Yuuri drinks his tea first and then promises Victor to keep very careful watch over the main door so that he might drink some tea, too. Now that he has seen his husband, Yuuri feels responsible for keeping his identity a secret. A part of him realizes that it’s foolish to be moved less by sympathy than jealousy. Victor is so beautiful and wonderful and, for now, only Yuuri’s treasure. If he finds the mask a struggle against his every desire to see and kiss his husband, it’s also a gift that let’s Yuuri keep something precious all to himself.

“Now, then,” Victor clears his throat, “I suppose we should discuss the—”

“Mask,” Yuuri interrupts, leaning his elbows on the table.

“The mask, then.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, resting his chin on his palms, “why do you wear it?”

Victor pauses for a moment, steepling his fingers in thought.

“I saw something I wasn’t supposed to when I was a child. A bout of bad luck earned a poor servant boy a lifetime of luxuries under the tutelage of a set of very kind nobles and, later, a very unfortunate set of demands.”

“The mask is a punishment, then?” Yuuri asks, horrified.

Victor sighs, sounding almost defeated as he says, “Of sorts, but not as you would imagine it. The history of the line of Mayberry is odd at best. Once a long time ago, an otherwise unremarkable man did an extraordinary favor for a member of the royal family. Thereafter, he was requested to work exclusively for the Crown.”

“What exactly did he do?” Yuuri inquires, eyes large as they settle on the flick of Victor’s wrist. His husband is obviously nervous.

“He poisoned a very evil person,” Victor explains, much like he might speak to a child. Yuuri tries to be patient, recognizing that it is not the time for questions. “Now, if I may finish—”

“You may,” Yuuri grins.

“Adorable,” Victor scoffs, although his tone betrays his fondness. “He earned himself the trust of the Crown and was given, as a gift, a rather considerable piece of land otherwise far removed from the closest town. He proceeded to call the estate Mayberry and so the manor came to take on the name and so did the man’s title come to be, under more affectionate than protocol terms, the Earl of Mayberry. A couple generations thereafter and the Crown granted an official title to an otherwise fictitious place and, if we may be frank, a similarly fictitious family—by which I mean to say that the line of Mayberry changes hands, depending on the chosen heir. The Mayberry line serves the Crown in whatever the Crown desires. Anonymity is the primary order. The second is to take care of the estate, ensure it is quiet and tidy— _behaving_ , if you will. The third is to take care of what comes into the estate, which is a great many things, some more dangerous than others. The fourth is to find all that which must come to the estate—and it does feel like a great deal of things need protection and greater study as of late. That is what takes up most of my time; the study of things that should come here and which I bring here. And, the fifth is to obey all orders that come from the Crown, even the most onerous.”

Mari’s words echo in Yuuri’s mind: _Mayberry isn’t a real place, Yuuri. It is a title, passed down only out of formality to the royal errands boy_. Is that what his husband is, then, an errand boy?

“What type of things? What type of orders?” Yuuri follows Victor towards another part of the room. He studies the family tree in front of him and leans forward, following the branches until he finds Victor’s name. Yuuri smiles, stretching out his hand to ask Victor for some ink. “Shall I write my name in?”

“Perhaps later. Now, then. What do you see?”

Yuuri turns around, tapping his chin: “That they’re all named Nikiforov. Like you. Victor, you’re truly making such a story of what seems to be simply a peculiar tradition. You needn’t try to frighten me.”

“Indeed, all named Nikiforov,” Victor nods, ignoring the rest of his statement. “But, and this is the secret, they’re not all Nikiforov. Some are, indeed, family. And there are very explicit rules as to the expectations of a child born into the line of succession, compared to one adopted into the position. For example, should you and I have a child, should it be male, the expectation would be that upon reaching the age of three, we would cover his face until the time that we can confirm whether he is an alpha or not. Should he be an alpha, he will be forced to wear a mask and take on the line of succession on his eighteenth birthday or the retirement of the father, whichever comes first.”

“What if the child is not an alpha?” Yuuri challenges with a chuckle, “What if the child is not male? What if none of the children are male alphas?”

“Then he is free to make of his life what he wishes, as is she. As are all of them. And the Crown will then have to choose another heir.”

The nervous edge at the tip of Victor’s tone unnerves Yuuri. Yuuri considers Victor’s words carefully, but refuses to accept that any of it might be true. Surely, his husband is just nervous. So, he turns back towards the tapestry, tapping at a particular spot with interest. “You have a brother?” Yuuri asks, pointing at the name by Victor’s line. _Yuri Nikiforov._ Yuuri’s not sure he’s ever seen the other child of Lilia Nikiforov.

Victor steps closer, pulling Yuuri away gently, “Yes, Yuri. He has made a life all his own in Paris and seldom seems to visit anymore. I am three years his senior. But, Yuuri, you now see why we must not bring a child into this, do you not?”

“There are no preferences given to the continuation of the line by blood, I see.”

“There are; technically, Yuri should have continued the line of Mayberry, but the rules are as unpredictable as the whims of the Crown and this darned house,” Victor huffs, slightly annoyed that Yuuri is choosing to ignore him. “Yuuri, do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. You have a very important job, Victor, that requires you to protect your identity lest it be exploited; I am proud of you, having such lofty a job at the service of the Queen. I did not know how personal an acquaintance you were, beyond, of course, the arranged nature of our marriage. Perhaps I should have known then,” Yuuri muses to himself, walking away to read over the title of a series of books lining a shelf.

“I also understand that there are a great many things I still don’t understand about this house. And, lastly, I also understand that you seem wholly against children,” Yuuri scoffs. “You should have done well to mention _that_ before we so vigorously attempted to make one last night.”

Victor groans, “Yuuri, that is neither here nor there. Although, I agree that it is entirely my fault that we did not discuss the options available to us to prevent conception—”

“Say nothing more!” Yuuri squeaks, blushing furiously as he turns to face his husband. “Victor, the very mention of it is illegal, not to mention insulting that you should wish the world to think me barren—incapable of bearing us a child. Is it not enough the world thought me incapable of finding a match that the Queen had to intervene on _your_ behalf? Now I must prepare to be seen—”

“Yuuri, stop,” Victor whispers, reaching to brush Yuuri’s hair with his hands. He pulls him to rest against the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry. I should’ve known this would be too much at once.”

Yuuri doesn’t understand _why_ he starts crying. He just knows there’s something deep in his nature that feels slighted and hurt. The pain is raw, like a splinter stuck somewhere in his body. It makes him want to scratch all over to find it and retrieve it.

He knows it’s silly. Victor has said nothing that should make him feel like _this_ , and yet, as he lets Victor comfort him, Yuuri can only see red—and he can only imagine it’s his heart leaving a trail to remind him that something in him has died in the knowledge that his husband doesn’t want children, that if he didn’t before he still doesn’t want them now. And all Yuuri can do is cry, unsure why he feels like he’s lost something, like the promise of spring has been ripped from his arms.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was waaaaay too long, so I cut it.


	6. If You Want to See Eccentric Oddities

Victor takes Yuuri to the balcony to get some fresh air. Despite the crisp cold of winter biting at his wet cheeks, Yuuri appreciates the way the light makes him squint and blink, until it becomes a habit by which to count his breaths. His breathing evens out after a few minutes as Victor rests on his knees before him, kissing his hands and whispering soft words Yuuri can’t understand.

They sit outside in silence until Yuuri grows too cold and asks to return to the library. Victor follows him inside quietly.

“Is it always so quiet here?” Yuuri asks after a while, eager to make polite conversation. Victor is busy dragging a clean, green board while Yuuri inspects some leftover chalk. “I do not think I’ve ever been in such a silent please. It’s almost disorienting with the way it lets my thoughts echo in my head.”

Victor hums, almost half-appreciative that Yuuri is speaking to him again and not about a baby. Yuuri feels reassured, too, that Victor isn’t pressing the subject of contraception, although he has a feeling it won’t be the last time they discuss it. The Victor that had sat in Yuuri’s parlor room and jokingly, almost invitingly told him he’d eagerly help Yuuri’s parenting dreams come true now feels far removed in the shadowy corner of Mayberry Manor.

“A dear friend Christophe Giacometti should arrive in a week or so to paint your portrait. Chris is a most excellent companion. He will likely come with a friend. That will surely liven the house for a few days.”

Yuuri decides it’s best not to comment on how unorthodox it is that they should have guests during the early part of their honeymoon.

“A portrait, you say?” Yuuri perks up. No one has ever painted Yuuri before. He’s had a few rare photographs taken of him, some of which previous suitors had requested, but a painting? – Yuuri’s never felt so important. “I wish you’d said before that I might have better considered something in my trousseau to fit it.”

“You needn’t worry about such things,” Victor chuckles, leaning a hand on the table to corner Yuuri. “You have beauty unparalleled to any I’ve seen, Yuuri, and I’ve been all over. But, if it will please you, I would be happy to call on some favors and—”

“There’s no need to have anything made,” Yuuri sighs, stepping around Victor with an easy spin. The bottom of his skirts swishes as he makes his way towards the nearest bookshelf. It’s not that he intends to punish Victor, but his pride is still hurt and he wants the right to pout for a little while longer. It’s hard to sulk in front of Victor, though, not when his eyes remind him of blue embers—warm and welcoming, like he’s a treasure. “I’ll make do with what I have brought with me.”

“If you insist,” Victor laments. He begins to gather a few books into his arms, taking them towards his desk. “Is there anything I might do for you to make you more comfortable here, Yuuri? Anything at all you need?”

Yuuri considers Victor’s words carefully.

“Actually,” he says, tapping his chin in thought.

.

Georgi comes for him within minutes, showing himself to be the perfect butler as he accepts Victor’s instructions quietly before escorting Yuuri out of the room. It’s easy to see that he’s a quiet, but intense man with a smoldering stare and depth of expression that betrays a story of sadness—perhaps even heartbreak. Yuuri doesn’t ask. The house is confusing to Yuuri still and he has yet to have an opportunity to explore. Victor hasn’t given him very clear instructions, other than he shouldn’t wander the premises alone yet.

For a house with so many rooms, almost none seem to be unoccupied. But Victor has promised him one in the furthest half of the east corridor for Yuuri to use as a dance room. Without a word, Georgi leads Yuuri down a long corridor full of doors, and Yuuri watches with fascination as a door pops open next to him and sends Georgi scrambling to close it. Yuuri licks his lips nervously, staring at the door even as he walks ahead. It happens again. Georgi reaches around Yuuri violently to close it and stays for a couple of seconds holding tight to the doorknob with both fingers.

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asks curiously, almost eager to run ahead as another door opens on the opposite side.

Georgi nods, reaching for that door next, “Yes, of course, Sir. Please, keep walking. I will follow shortly.”

But then, it happens again and again, until Yuuri is standing in the middle of the hallway watching ten open doors–all leading to rooms he can’t enter. Bead of sweat pool on the center of Georgi’s forehead as the door whips open from his hands. The force shoves him back until he’s falling on the ground, scrambling to get back up.

Yuuri’s eyes brighten as he stares at the amazing scene before him, unsure where to peek first.

“Sir, please remain where you are,” Georgi implores him, but Yuuri feels an almost magnetic pull towards the nearest room. He notices the fine craftmanship of wood.

Only momentarily does he consider whether to step back or forward. He’s interrupted by a strong, familiar arm falling around his waist, pulling him back just as a hand falls over his eyes. Almost instantly, he hears a number of doors slam at the same time. The sound is disconcerting, sending him reeling without his sight.

“Are you alright?” Victor asks and Yuuri frowns, writhing unhappily. It’s as if his husband has just appeared from next to him, as if materializing from thin air, and Yuuri wonders if there’s hidden rooms and walkways in the house. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“My Lord,” Georgi says, voice gruff behind them. “I apologize that I was not able to—”

“At ease, Georgi, this is by no means your fault,” Victor responds. “Yuuri?”

“I’m fine. Pray, unhand me, Victor,” Yuuri huffs, standing his ground. The hallway feels eerily silent now. It’s cold, too. “I was more alarmed by you than anything else. Obviously, there are drafts in the house. Now, then, where is the dance room I was promised? – I’ve been walking a considerable length and no sight of the room as yet, despite the fact there’s all types of rooms all about. I remain very unconvinced that so few of these would not do.”

Victor’s shoulders untense as he clears his throat and rests a hand on the small of Yuuri’s back. Yuuri flushes instantly and wonders if Georgi’s composure is the result of exposure. _Have you brought many lovers here before me?_ Yuuri wonders, almost worries, until Victor leads him forward.

“It’s the door just ahead, right at the end of the hallway facing us. Just a bit more patience, dearest.”

Yuuri scoffs, but it’s only pretend.

“Where did you come from, darling?” Yuuri asks Victor curiously. “It is so very convenient that you were here just at the right time. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re attempting to frighten me for your own humor. I do not much appreciate it, Victor.”

“I’m always around,” Victor responds easily, sounding almost amused. “And, I assure you, I am doing no such thing. If I intended to frighten you, I would have done it already.”

“Is that so?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow. He studies Victor as his husband opens the door in front of them. The room is empty, with only a chair in the corner. The floor is of a good make, a bit different from the rest of the house, while one of the walls is decorated with a mirror that will prove useful to him. He nods, admiring the remainder of the room. It passes his inspection. He turns to Victor with a bright smile, as if to reward him for a job well done. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Victor nods, “I’m glad it is to your taste. For as long as you’d like it, it is yours. If you should need anything, Georgi will be able to assist in furnishing it to your liking.”

“I doubt I will need for anything,” Yuuri laughs. His delight is obvious. If Yuuri will have his own space to dance, he’ll happily stay at the manor for months, years—for however long Victor wants to stay away from London. In many ways, Yuuri isn’t even sure he’d miss London. He’s always liked the quiet of the country. It’s good for his nerves.

Yuuri bounds into the room, spinning with his arms outstretched.

“It’s a big room,” he clasps his hands together.

Victor clears his throat, knocking on the door.

“May I come in, dearest?” Victor fixes his collar. “I feel like I must ask permission, now that I know this will be your favorite place.”

Yuuri tips his head. It exposes a portion of his scent gland. No amount of perfume or high collar can overcome his happiness.

“You need never ask permission to come spend time with me here,” Yuuri tells him softly. He extends out a hand to his husband, who takes it greedily and eager to be close to him again. Yuuri finds that it’s easier to forget his mood with such a gift; many other husbands would have forbid their spouses from dancing. Some may have found it obscene. Victor, on the other hand, seems to relish the joy it brings Yuuri to have a space all his own.   

Victor dismisses Georgi with a flick of his wrist and walks into the room. He tangles their fingers together.

“Should we dance?” Victor asks Yuuri.

Yuuri nods, letting Victor rest a hand on his back. He turns his head slightly towards the left and feels Victor’s breath barely ghost over his face as he turns it towards the right. Yuuri wonders where Victor learned to waltz. His style is entirely not English, where so many alphas and male betas will shamelessly hug their partners’ waist with the expanse of their arm. Instead, Victor treats Yuuri delicately as they begin to move. There’s not enough space for long, sliding steps, but Victor leads beautifully, and Yuuri is only too happy to follow.

“In Russia,” Victor confesses, “they hold a glass of champagne in one hand and waltz all around. But I learned to waltz in Germany. I hope to take you to both places someday.”

“A man who appreciates speed, then,” Yuuri teases, and wonders if it would be too vulgar to rest his head on Victor’s shoulder. Technically, they’re married and there’s no one to see them. And, Yuuri, despite his earlier upset, feels soft and vulnerable now, dancing in a room all his own in the arms of his very charming and talented husband. He decides to test his luck and is relieved to find that Victor melts into him. “Slow is nice, too, though, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” Victor whispers in his ear, leading him into another round.

Yuuri knows it’s just is imagination, but he swears that he can hear music playing all around them.

(He’s not sure which one of them trips. Their dance is smooth, slow—just the two of them gliding together in unison. They’re so close, far too close that it isn’t respectable with Victor’s arm now wrapped around Yuuri’s waist and Yuuri’s hand held high to rest almost between the crook of Victor’s high neck and cheek.

And then, suddenly, Yuuri gasps as he feels Victor fall forward. It’s like the very floorboards have come undone, and Yuuri can remember the feel of something hard hitting and sliding beneath his heel. Thankfully for them both, Victor manages to rest both arms under Yuuri’s head to break his fall.)

.

Yuuri feels embarrassed that he doesn’t spend almost any time with the staff on his first few days. Although he feels guilty for not being a better master. Still, he excuses his early negligence as the result of exhaustion.

It’s not a lie. Yuuri finds himself in a state of perpetual exhaustion between the anxiety of being in a new place and Victor or Georgi’s constant presence. Any time Yuuri thinks he’ll have an opportunity to explore, there’s someone around to escort him. After the first day, it’s usually Victor less and less and more others, like Georgi, or Emil who gets put on Yuuri duty. It exhausts the more reserved parts of Yuuri so much that he decides to spend almost all of his day in the dance room. He’ll often only meet Victor for dinner, chatting pleasantly about their day, with Victor’s feeling considerably more exciting.

“You’re always welcome to spend your time in the library with me, treasure,” Victor tells him during dinner when they’re all alone. It’s a strange feeling, watching him take their empty plates to the kitchen. Such a large house and not a single member of staff around.

It leaves Yuuri feeling ill at ease, like he’s just waiting for Victor to take off the invisible mask he still wears, even when Yuuri can see his face.

A part of Yuuri is embarrassed that any concerns dissipate by the time they reach their bedroom every night. That leaves him exhausted come morning, too, and Yuuri isn’t sure that their current routine could ever be sustainable, even if it is very enjoyable.

.

After a week, Yuuri finally finds that he is being given freer reign of the house. It’s like they all finally trust him to keep to the rules. So, he considers going down to meet with Isabella and Georgi but finds that Isabella has already prepped a delicious lunch and Georgi knows better than anyone how to keep the household staff unobtrusive and on task. In a lot of ways, this brings great relief to Yuuri, but also fills him with concern that this big, mysterious house has no place for him.

Unexpectedly, he dines alone for lunch. Georgi comes to get him by noon and walks him down to the giant dining room. It’s a strangely lonely experience and completely foreign to Yuuri, who has always enjoyed the company of his mother and sisters, close family friends, and a rather affectionate staff.

In Mayberry Manor, Yuuri has no one, not even a dog.

To feel useful, he takes the lunch tray from the kitchen and begs to take it to Victor in the study. Isabella looks torn but knows better than to deny Yuuri. She sends a thin, blonde girl with him and the tray. The girl says nothing, barely even bothering to look at Yuuri before she transfers the tray onto his arms just outside the door. Yuuri knocks on the door, but barely has time to thank her as she runs back down the hallway and the stairs. Almost no one wants to be in the second floor of the house longer than needed.

“Victor?” he says, pushing inside with the back of his shoulder. He knows it might not be very dignified, but Yuuri had often seen his mother gently coax his father into a meal during long work hours at home.

Yuuri smiles faintly, thinking perhaps Victor might have fallen asleep. He comes closer towards the desk only to find Victor resting his head over a book—and the coat hanger using its two middle hooks as arms to drape a blanket over him. The coat hanger has the decency to stop its activity for a moment, turning expectantly in position at Yuuri, before it drops the blanket and straightens up instantly.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri gasps, dropping the tray as he presses both hands to his mouth. In the shock and noise, he loses his footing in an attempt to scramble away. He yelps, sliding back only to find the reading chaise he’s loved so dearly slide fast along the wooden floor to catch his fall. It’s a testament to his shock that all Yuuri can think as he falls against plush, comfortable pillows that there’ll surely be scratches on the floorboards.

.

Yuuri wakes up in his bedroom to a mask-less Victor holding a small handkerchief close to his nose with something that smells strong enough to make him gag and cough. He tries to lean on his elbows to sit up, but his head is still spinning. Instead, he pushes Victor’s hand away.

Behind Victor, their armoire shadows over them both, imposing and yet giving the airs of concern. Next to him, Yuuri hears a thud and finds that their bedside table is excitedly trying to call attention to the glass of water there. Yuuri isn’t even sure how faceless and voiceless objects can still give off such impressions, but it’s like there’s a fog of emotion around the room and Yuuri is drinking them all in.

“This is happening,” Yuuri tells Victor in a hoarse voice. Victor takes the glass of water, thanking their bedside table before he tries to give it to Yuuri. Yuuri can’t help but eye the glass wearily.

“It’s not alive,” Victor sighs, “just a regular glass. I promise. Can you just imagine if the knives and forks had an opportunity to mount a rebellion with how often Isabella overcooks—”

Yuuri drinks greedily until he chokes at the image in his head.

“I haven’t gone mad, then, have I? You aren’t just humoring me that I may not throw a fit before you send me away to a home?”

Victor shakes his head, looking both sheepish and terrified.

“I’m afraid not, darling,” Victor sighs.

“You’re darling. I’m dearest,” Yuuri still manages to correct him, despite his shock. “Is this what you were keeping from me, then? Our furniture is alive and I’ve been so rudely resting my posterior on all the chairs without ever asking for their permission? – Dear lord, the bed! Is the bed alive, too? The things it has suffered. Oh dear bed, please do accept my apologies. I shall now suffocate myself with the blankets.”

The chair by his vanity swivels around, bouncing around, and Yuuri swears the scratches of its feet against the floorboards act like a chirp.

“They like your posterior fine and the bed is no more traumatized before you got here than now, although it has complained recently of scratches against the backboard,” Victor tries to reassure Yuuri, like that will make much of a difference at all. “And, technically, it’s not just the furniture, but it is certainly a good start. I’d asked them all to be on their best behavior around you, not just the staff, hoping I might yet have an opportunity to introduce you to the house slowly, but they all seem to be rebelling against me. As is common.”

The last part is said with a slight tinge of bitterness. Immediately, all the furniture returns to their usual stillness.

Yuuri is still patting the backboard of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’ll keep my nails very, very short from now on. And sleep on the floor, as should be merited of a lustful omega, such as myself.”

Victor rolls his eyes, “You’re honestly worried about the bed? – I thought you’d be a bit more put off by the discovery.”

Yuuri arches an eyebrow, “What good would it do me? It’s not like they’ll be any less alive if I was any more indignant. But, now that I know that they are alive and communicate with you, I would very much like to know whether they like the wax Isabella has the cleaners use. I’ve always had the perspective that it was a bit too oily, with a very heavy scent. _Oh!_ Victor, your mask.”

The vanity looks almost hopeful.

Victor sighs, giving Yuuri a fond look as he reaches to bring Yuuri’s head forward so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s fine. I’ve sent everyone away for the day,” Victor implores, pressing their foreheads together. “It truly is amazing how you seem to surprise me so for such a comely omega. Never did I expect to have someone like you, Yuuri. You truly are beyond my wildest expectations.”

**TBC**


	7. The Stranger is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me and spoilers over at cuttlemefishwrites.tumblr.com — along with, now, some fan art drawn by someone else for this fic. :)

It’s around two o’clock when Victor convinces Yuuri to stop worrying about the bed and join him in the kitchen. Victor decides that he might as well prepare them a snack that will hold them until he can finish with a stew for dinner.

Yuuri sits idly by the kitchen table, watching as Victor dices vegetables for a simple stew. A part of him feels guilty, considering he’d ruined Victor’s lunch when he’d fainted. He considers offering to help, but Victor looks so calm that he can’t bring himself to disrupt his peace with words. (They’d already spent a couple of hours going through some ground rules. Now that Yuuri had been introduced to the house, Victor was fine with Yuuri having free reign of the house—within reason. (“Worry not, that you will not have the same impositions in London,” Victor sighs, patting Yuuri’s trembling hand. “I will endeavor to do well by you. Although it is my responsibility to spend as much time as I can in the house, it is not yours.”) Yuuri considers telling Victor that, if Yuuri’s freedom lies in London, all the better that they should have a child right away. With the amount of travel Victor’s job demands, it would not be considered strange for Yuuri to spend time close to his family. But he can’t bring himself to say anything about a child.) However, he also knows that if he stays in the confines of the kitchen for much longer, his scent will overpower them both with the bitter, acrid smell of lemons left to rot. Yuuri is nervous. Everything about the house is now a question mark. Although he knows worrying will do nothing to change his situation, he can’t help himself.

When a lonely chair inches closer to him, he jumps.

“Is it alright if I go visit the garden for a moment?” he asks meekly. Protectively and subconsciously, his arm wraps around his stomach. “I’d just like some air. If it’s safe.”

“Should be fine,” Victor tells him with a small smile. The mask rests on the far side of the kitchen island. “Touch nothing and nothing will disturb you, precious. Don’t wander far? I should have something ready for us soon.”

Yuuri nods, worrying at his bottom lip as he stands and, out of nerves, curtsies quickly before departing from the room. The last thing he hears is Victor’s laugh ringing behind him like bells. He wonders if Victor is laughing at him or at something the chairs have said.

.

There’s a sense of relief and freedom that overcomes him the moment he leaves the kitchen. Yuuri finds the double French doors leading to the garden and pushes them open eagerly. He almost trips when a lamp tips forward, as if trying to get a better look at him, and instead finds that he runs right into the vicinity of a coat hanger that drops Victor’s coat over his arms.

“Oh, thank you,” Yuuri says, giving the coat hanger a polite nod. _Do they have names?_ he wonders, determined to learn how to show his respects at the soonest opportunity. The cold air smacks his cheeks, painting them pink almost immediately. He lets out a deep breath. “Thank you. I certainly did need that.”

The coat hanger closes the doors behind him. When Yuuri turns to look over his shoulder, it seems half the sitting room has moved to press close to the door and watch him. _I guess that’s normal? They would have gone almost a decade without another master,_ Yuuri reassures himself.

The garden isn’t much to look at now, not with the blanket of snow keeping everything dormant for the winter months. When he takes a step forward, he hears more than feels the crunch of dead leaves underneath his heeled boot. Mayberry Manor appears to have even more land than Yuuri imagined. There’s white and brown for as far as he can see, including a pale marble statue left standing close to a very packed and colorful greenhouse.

The statue is practically nude, except for what looks like a piece of loose, flowy fabric carved from the same material as the rest of him. It barely covers his modesty. Grecian statues aren’t very common in gardens—at least none that Yuuri has seen. But his attention isn’t on the peculiar statue, not when the flowers almost seem to vibrate in the distance. Curious, Yuuri decides to make his way over, careful not to slip. There’s a small pathway, uncovered and well-trodden, that shows this is a well-visited place. He runs a hand over the glass walls as he walks the perimeter.

“How curious,” he smiles to himself, tapping his chin. The furniture outside the must also be sentient—or Victor very conscientious—given that it is inside the greenhouse as well, packed to the bring along with rows and rows of flowers and plants of all times. The glass walls are not fully transparent, but the more he stares, the faster his eyes adjust to the shadows and contours of the things inside, including what seems to be the outline of a person. He gasps, wondering if perhaps he should get Victor to tell him they might have intruder in the house, but then realizes it could easily be a member of the staff that, having fallen asleep, did not leave in time. That would be easy enough to resolve.

“Pardon me!” he says, rushing towards the door of the greenhouse. Yuuri tries to knock on one of the glass panes, his skirts swishing as they brush against the marble of the statue’s base. “Hello! Do you not see me? You shouldn’t be here!”

“Excuse me, Sir, but you are not allowed in there, either.”

“Oh, my apologies, but there seems to be someone in there and I’m quite certain there’s not supposed to be. If you would just unhand me—” Yuuri responds, turning around to come face to face with the rock hand fisting the skirt of his dress to pull him back. “Oh dear.”

“As I said,” the statue repeats, a grin on his lips. The closer he gets to Yuuri, the more the previously pale color of marble inks into a bright pink, until there is a hand, as much flesh as the rest of Yuuri’s body, and a pair of mischievous blue eyes staring back at him. The statue doesn’t seem to notice (or doesn’t care, as the pale fabric slips further down his hips,) slowly stepping down from his pedestal. “I’m afraid I cannot let you inside per the orders of my master. But you are indeed a very pretty thing. It will please me greatly to have such a beauty keep me company for a little while.”

“Pardon me?” Yuuri babbles, trying to take a step back only to find a strong arm wrap around his waist. Surprised, Yuuri immediately slaps at the hand resting against his side. (Later, he will wonder how he could have been so composed. He will question whether there’s something wrong with him to accept with ease the peculiarities of a house that would otherwise terrify him.) “Unhand me at once! Who do you think you are to say you will keep from going anywhere? – If there is a person in there, then I must tell them to go, as that is my right. Now, excuse me, Sir!”

Yuuri steps on the former statue’s foot, watching as the man recoils in pain before he tries to make a run for the door.  

 “ _I_ am the guardian of this garden! The king of this domain!” the man responds with a cocky smile, covering the door with his back. Yuuri can still see the tick of his lip betraying the pain still coursing through his body.

“Some king you are, having a master,” Yuuri says, voice flat. 

“Oh? A bold statement from a trespasser. Do you not know what we do to thieves in Mayberry Manor?”

“I am not a trespasser. I am also not a thief,” Yuuri scoffs, standing his ground. The very idea that he is being accused of being a thief in his own home makes his stomach churn. Yuuri doesn’t know what possesses him then, but he says, “I am the Countess of Mayberry!”

Those seem to be the magic words. At this declaration, the statue crumbles to the ground almost instantly, eyes wide as he reaches for the edges of Yuuri’s skirts. He presses messy, blustered kisses against the fabric. Yuuri watches in surprise. He’s never had anyone worship him.

“Oh, oh, mistress! Pray forgive your humble servant that I was so senseless as to not recognize the glory of your beauty, but it _is_ the constitution nature has given me to be, quite literally, hard-headed. I should have known on seeing you that you were the Countess of Mayberry; who else would be so graceful, so forgiving—”

“That’s much better, but you can stop now,” Yuuri sighs, relieved that he won’t have to fight his way into a greenhouse of all things. He smiles, waving the man away. “Now, I will go inside to investigate. You stay out here and keep watch, uh, what are you called?”

The man brightens, straightening as he says, “My lord calls me _vazey_ or _foozler_ , unless he is feeling particularly magnanimous, in which case he bestows on me a very cherished title, _the most particularly useless thing in the Manor_ —”

Yuuri raises his palm, perturbed, “Well, I shall have to speak to my husband about his language later, but, for now, is there nothing else, nothing _kinder_ that people call you? Have you not a name?”

“There are very seldom any others,” the man shrugs. “I suppose J.J. should suffice, if it pleases you. It’s what the former Earl of Mayberry used to call me. Personally, I would prefer _Adonis_ to capture the true perfection of my nature. After all, if you just look at me—”

“Fine, then J.J., keep watch while I go see about this greenhouse,” Yuuri orders him, pausing to study him for a minute. It’s strange to keep thinking that the man in front of him was ever rock. His skin remains a bruised, bright pink thanks to the bites of winter. In good conscience, Yuuri’s not sure he should leave him exposed to the cold. “J.J., are you not cold?”

“Cold?” J.J. laughs, haughty as he leans against the side of the greenhouse. “Mistress, I don’t know if you’ve failed to notice, but I am a statue. The elements do nothing to me. I am eternal! Invincible!”

“Yuuri is fine.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” J.J. repeats, punching himself in the stomach to prove his point, only to double over from the impact. He coughs and chokes out, “s—see?”

“Alright then,” Yuuri furrows his brows, confused. “But J.J., I feel it is my duty to inform you that you’re looking a little more pink than usual.”

“The excitement of basking in your beauty, surely.”

“If you say so,” Yuuri shrugs, stepping into the greenhouse. “Oh, and you can stop complimenting me now. I realize I’m not in possession of great beauty or grace like the countesses that came before me. Just Yuuri is fine, as I said.”

J.J. seems to consider Yuuri’s words carefully. He looks confused, probably perturbed by the implication that he should drop the formalities probably taught to him from years and years as a statue in the manor. But Yuuri knows that he is not and will likely never be as legendary as the omegas that came before him. He’s not sure he wants the house to play into false vanity.

. 

Apparently, so long as Yuuri announces himself as the Countess of Mayberry, there is nothing that is _actually_ off limits or likely to hurt him. He enters the greenhouse with a renewed sense of confidence, eager to see what else he can discover just so he can return to Victor and tell him proudly that he has easily managed to domesticate the two creatures of the house.

The greenhouse is warm.

On first sight, Yuuri can tell that it is a well-loved space. _Victor must spend a lot of time here_ , he thinks to himself, amazed at how the greenhouse looks almost like a microcosm of spring. The plants closest to the door are all labeled. A particularly striking one in a deep, royal shade of purple calls his attention. _Monkshood_ , the sign reads. Monkshood was typically used for the aconite it could produce. The son of a physician, Yuuri was well-acquainted with some of the treatments of the day. It was often given to treat head colds. In bad cases of swelling, aconite could work just as well. _Belladonna, mandrake_ , and on the list continued with a series of plants that soon gave way to even more flowers. Yuuri was not well-trained in botany. He knew very little, but some names he could recognize thanks to the benefits of an education in the classics. Most of the plants were not benign in nature. 

He keeps exploring, finding nothing out of the ordinary. So far, except for the curated species and the fact that the furniture won’t move even when he talks to them. When he takes a turn around a divider to find another row of plants, he’s assaulted by the sound of loud chirping and chattering and immediately he recognizes the vibrant thrumming movement he’d seen before.

Yuuri feels disoriented. As he walks down the aisle, he finds entire clusters of flowers of different colors and sizes all lean towards him. There’s so much noise, it all begins to blend together into the sound of wind—like a long whistle that ends with a rustle. When Yuuri was little, he’d spent a lot of time in the family garden, laying on the grass and closing his eyes to identify the difference between the sound of leaves rubbing together and the wind. _This_ , he thinks _, must be what a thousand flowers sound like on a wild hill._ But he is not in a wild hill. He is in a greenhouse. And these flowers all seem angry in the way their petals whoosh with accusations he can’t recognize.

“I’m sorry,” he tells them, “I don’t understand.”

The sound only gets louder, until he has to cover his ears.

“I’m just looking for someone I saw,” he tries to reassure them. He doesn’t even register he’s yelling as he passes down the row and repeats the same phrase repeatedly. “I am just passing by!”

Eventually, he’s able to get far enough away that he assumes they get tired because the sound disappears. The new row is just a series of bushes, shrubbery, and saplings—all small and nascent, likely planted here to save them from the uncertainties of winter. Even though they’re experiencing a mild winter, Yuuri begins to piece together that his husband must be an exemplary botanist. Viktor had said he studied many things. The greenhouse is but a testament to his nature, and Yuuri feels something akin to pride blossom in his chest.

Despite the bubbling excitement wrapped tight around his heart, though, the more he walks, the more Yuuri starts to rationalize that something is off about the proportions and the organization of the greenhouse. For one, there is certainly more room inside than there appeared to be from the outside. Standing by the main house of the manor, the greenhouse had looked small. Now inside, Yuuri feels like he’s stuck in a maze. He considers the tired, throbbing feeling in his legs and wonders if his mind is playing a trick on him. He can’t have been walking for too long. However, with the white noise dulling his senses, he begins to count the seconds in desperation.

He’s not sure he could map his way back out, though. It’s a ridiculous thought that strikes fear into his heart.

“I took a turn, then another, then another, and just one more,” he reminds himself, and questions how he has not managed to get back to the original corner through which he entered. A branch suddenly hits his face, throwing him back. “What was that for?” Yuuri frowns, pushing a stubborn, thin branch away. He finds a twig on the floor and picks it up to swat at an aggressive sapling trying to tower over him—and failing, given their relative size. “It is not polite to hit people.”

The sapling seems capable of understanding him. The two remain at an impasse, and for a minute Yuuri doesn’t even move. When he feels the slap of another branch against his arm, he reacts and hits the sapling with the twig until the two are caught in a rapid-fire series of attacks. Eventually, Yuuri hits a branch. The sapling recoils away.

“You do not like it either, do you?” Yuuri asks the sheepish tree. “Well then, I will not hit you if you do not hit me.”

The stubborn sapling appears to accept the deal. Yuuri can’t be sure. But he decides to give the sapling the benefit of the doubt, if anything because this side of the greenhouse appears to have less lighting than the rest. More shadows seem to lurk, expanding beneath his feet, and he’s not ashamed to admit to himself that he’s beginning to get tired and, perhaps, a little scared.

On his periphery, he spots the same moving shadow from earlier. With a gasp, he takes off into a fast walk.

“Stop! You are not allowed to be in here!” he yells, running after the figure. But it seems to weave in and out between the plants, brushing over them like black paint before disappearing all together behind some bushes.

After a long while, Yuuri stops to breathe. His chest heaves heavily and he suddenly finds that he really does not know where he is anymore. “Don’t be silly,” he reminds himself, “this is but a small greenhouse. Just keep going in one direction and eventually you will reach the exit. Yes, that is all I have to do. I can feel my way through the outer walls!”

He runs in the opposite direction, deciding the strange creature is not worth worrying about for now. By the time he makes it to the closest glass wall, though, Yuuri finds that it’s completely dark outside.

. 

Here’s what happens: Yuuri lays down by the wall, his cheek pressed against the glass. _Impossible_ , he thinks, _I was in here but mere minutes_. And yet, the sun had quite rapidly set, leaving him draped in the darkness of the greenhouse. At least, he is warm inside. The smell of Victor clings to his jacket. Yuuri isn’t even ashamed to seek comfort in the scent, wrapping himself with it.

“Stupid,” he sobs. “Why ever did you wander into a place you were not meant to go? What compelled you to go seeking mischief in a haunted house?” – Naturally, he doesn’t intend to fall asleep.

He doesn’t sleep for very long. Yuuri wakes up to the feeling of something prickly rubbing against his calf. He jumps and hits his head with the glass of the wall, just before he screams. In the darkness, it takes him a minute before he can map out that the slithering green thing wrapped around his leg is not a snake, but a vine. It coils and springs down the long row of plants ahead of him, like it’s trying to tug him out. He rubs at his eyes, feeling the stickiness of dried tears beneath, and wonders if this vine isn’t trying to help him.

“I can follow you?” he asks the vine, which seems to slither deeper into the maze of shrubbery. Even Yuuri recognizes that following a plant that wants him to get even more lost is not a good idea, but the vine seems insistent. It tugs, dragging him. “No, stop. I won’t go!”

“Yuuri!”

“Victor?” Yuuri scrambles to stand, but the vine pulls him down and he hits the ground hard.

“Yuuri!” Victor yells again. There’s an edge of relief to his tone. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to find you.”

“I’ve not much of a choice, darling,” Yuuri sniffles, his bottom lip trembling as he tries to unwind the vine caught tight around his foot now. At least, the vine has stopped moving. “I seem to have tangled myself with something. And now I fear I might have hurt my ankle.”

When Victor doesn’t respond, Yuuri panics. He hears movement but can’t recognize from where.

“Victor?”

“I’m here, Yuuri,” Victor responds, dipping down from his immediate left to rest a hand on his shoulder. Yuuri deflates in relief, wrapping his arms around his husband’s neck to bring him into a desperate hug. His nose rests against Victor’s scent gland, sniffing wildly for any bit of comfort, since the mask covers his face again. “You’re safe now. It’s alright, Yuuri.”

Yuuri breathes him in, whining as Victor pushes up his sleeves to rub his scent over Yuuri’s back and arms. The warmth envelopes him and he relaxes. When Victor can tell Yuuri’s doing better, he pokes at the vine still wrapped around his boot. “Go away now,” Victor commands, and Yuuri watches in fascination as the plant responds in kind, coiling in circles away into the darkness again. “Come. Let’s get you out of here.”

. 

Victor is angry.

Yuuri can tell, even if he doesn’t say a word. He considers telling Victor that he had it all under control, but they both know that would be a lie. Similarly, he itches with want to ask Victor about J.J. On their way out of the greenhouse, Yuuri hadn’t seen J.J. guarding the door anymore. Instead, the statue was back to normal—unmoving, pale, and stone on his chipped and lopsided pedestal. This time, the statue had moved to rest closer to the middle of the immediate patio.

“I looked for you for hours,” Victor says, taking off his mask in the secrecy of their bedroom. “Imagine my surprise to find that my statue was suddenly not a statue and a minute from death by snow. The fool is so stubborn, he’d not even registered that he’d changed.”

“I did wonder about that,” Yuuri whispers. “He’s back to a statue now, though. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“The problem is not that he is a statue yet again, but that he should have never been otherwise. Naturally, it was lucky that _you_ somehow managed to have such an effect on him or else I would have never guessed you went into the greenhouse.”

“Where else would I have gone?” Yuuri frowns, bringing his knees to rest against his chest. He feels safe sitting on the bed. The implication of Victor’s words remains ignored. Yuuri can’t be to blame for what happened to J.J. “It’s not like I know that there is anywhere I could go, beyond what I see. And there is currently very little to see.”

“The grounds are vast. There’s plenty out there more dangerous than the greenhouse. I didn’t know where to look,” Victor challenges him. “But this at least should put to rest your untamable desire to explore the premises on your own. Certainly, going anywhere in the house unaccompanied is now out of the question until a time I see fit that you can handle—”

“Are you forbidding me from going anywhere without a chaperone, like a child?” Yuuri gasps. “What happened today was not my fault. I had to deal with a living statue all on my own. Not to mention that I thought there was an intruder in the greenhouse!”

“And you thought it fit to see to an intruder all on your own?”

“I thought maybe it was one of the staff that had fallen asleep in the warmth of the greenhouse! How was I to know it was a never-ending maze in a warp of non-continuous and wholly illogical space that welcomes no one except you? – Where I come from, a greenhouse is a place of rest, leisure, and beauty, not the training grounds for rogue saplings that beat you with their branches or horrid flowers that cry like violin strings about to snap!”

“A tree hit you?” Victor interrupts him, looking suddenly very worried as he tries to examine Yuuri’s skin beneath his nightshirt. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine. It was like being hit by a twig,” Yuuri sighs. “My point is that I cannot know what rules I am breaking if I do not know the rules. And I mean reasonable rules, Victor. You cannot keep me hostage to the library, the dance room, and our bedroom. I am not some delicate flower you can keep in a glass case!”

“I daresay you’re most certainly not,” Victor scoffs, rolling his eyes as he paces the room. “Even enclosed in a glass case you seem to find trouble, Yuuri! I’ve already had a talk with the house. And the greenhouse. And the flowers. And the statue, that blasted piece of useless stone. None should have behaved so poorly with a stranger.”

Yuuri hefts himself up to rest on his knees, even as his eyes follow Victor’s every move.

“Again, I tell you that I cannot keep out of trouble if I do not know what trouble can await me and where—and don’t think for a minute to tell me that I should simply interact with nothing. It is obvious everything here is curious about me. They want me to know them. That poor statue you seem to verbally abuse at every opportunity—”

“I do _not_! I take offense to that most vile accusation! I protect everything in this estate with my life.”

“The poor thing did not even remember his name, Victor!” Yuuri rolls his eyes, huffing. “The point is—”

Victor crosses his arms, pointedly staring him down, “the point is that you will be chaperoned until further notice.”

“No, the point _is_ that the statue seemed to imply he had met the countesses before me. The gentleness with which the furniture treats me, even when I cannot seem to shake my weariness of them, shows me that this house was as much Lilia’s—as much any Countess of Mayberry’s—as it was your father’s and those that came before him. To that end, I want to know how to keep myself safe. I don’t want to depend on you or some chaperone.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for!”

Yuuri shakes his head, whispering, “I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

“I am simply trying to protect you…” Victor says, defeated as he sits on the corner of the bed. “If you knew everything that is in here, you would run. And, unfortunately for you, that is in neither of our best interests now.”

Yuuri licks his lips, trying to hide the hurt he feels at Victor’s words. It’s like whiplash every time. Yuuri feels stuck, somewhere between believing that Victor wants to do _good_ by him, to learn to love him, and suspecting that Victor is only saying whatever he needs to appease Yuuri. He crawls over to sit behind his husband, letting his hands fall to rest on his shoulders.

“I understand,” he tells him, “that there is a lot you cannot share with me. Perhaps there is more that would horrify me. I am not asking to know every secret; I am simply asking for rules so that I may learn and make this place my home instead of my prison. Victor, _please_.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... will Victor finally give Yuuri some rules? Yes. Because Yuuri is a very persuasive little omega. Will Yuuri still break all of them? Yes. Because he's also an incredibly headstrong omega. We also introduce Phichit and Christophe. :D


	8. So Did You Come To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you haven't had an update in such a long time, folks. We were having some issues with some serious hate and harassment being thrown at this story. Hopefully we're all good to go ahead and continue now! The chapter was too long, so I'm sorry that we'll have to leave meeting Phichit to next chapter...
> 
> ALSO, I KNOW A LOT OF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS AU. Please feel free to read some information on how I'm interpreting omegeverse in this AU and revising it with some loose Victorian inspiration: https://cuttlemefishwrites.tumblr.com/post/172524585399/lets-talk-a-little-bit-about-the-omegaverse
> 
> You can always find me over at CuttleMeFishWrites.tumblr.com or @CMFWritings on Twitter.

In the glow following their lovemaking, they lay naked in bed, exposed to the night cold of the manor and the fading rays of moonlight dancing over the floorboards of their bedroom. They hadn’t even bothered to start a fire in the frenzy of exchanged kisses and caresses that, in hindsight, leave Yuuri feeling shy and nervous now. Whenever Yuuri had read the marriage hygiene books, the entire concept of marital coital relations had been explained in absolutely clinical terms that prioritized conception first and chastity thereafter. It wasn’t like Yuuri hadn’t quietly overheard older, married omegas discuss the merits of carefully and strategically withholding sex from their spouses, only to later hear that there was yet power in the _offer_ as well. But Yuuri had had little strategy behind his wanton abandon of dignity in the name of security in the warmth of Victor’s arms. It was hard to feel any sense of shame, though, not with the gentle, loving way in which Victor’s finger pads drew love over the sensitive skin of Yuuri’s lower back, pressing slowly over the line of his spine down to the curve of his cheeks, until he could reach the beginnings of Victor’s knot stretching Yuuri open.

Yuuri hides his face against Victor’s chest, groaning when Victor shifts slightly. In response, Victor cradles the back of Yuuri’s head with a large palm and presses a few kisses to the top of Yuuri’s dark hair, matted with heat and sweat. Even in the dark, Yuuri can feel, maybe even hear the curb of Victor’s lips as they form into a self-satisfied smile.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasps, “please don’t move.”

“Sorry,” he whispers back, stretching his neck as he peers up at the ceiling. “You surprised me tonight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri flushes a bright shade of red that inks down his chest, “I hadn’t intended for things to progress beyond a few kisses, to be frank. But, I’m not disappointed.” When he considers his words after a short pause, he adds in a hurry, “Not that I have been at all before.”

“Neither am I,” Victor chuckles, resuming his previous action.

The hand cradling his head brushes over his nape and, Yuuri assumes, accidentally touches his scent gland. For a second, Yuuri tenses, holding his breath. There’s an excitement that pools in the middle of his chest, like some mysterious expectation that suddenly crops up and waits for Victor to finally claim him as his bonded mate. However, when nothing happens, Yuuri tries to convince himself to remain calm. They’re early in their marriage still, and they have yet to even make plans regarding their return to London for the social season. As far as Yuuri is concerned, Victor has proven himself an exceptionally caring alpha with a knack for planning. It shouldn’t surprise Yuuri that maybe Victor wants to have a conversation about Yuuri’s comfort levels first.

Despite the rationality with which Yuuri eases his own discomfort, he can’t help wondering if there’s any part of Victor that intends to _not_ bite his neck gland, as would be customary of a bonded pair. Yuuri hasn’t pressed the issue as yet. It’s not that there aren’t married couples that haven’t bonded, but typically it is a sign of protest towards an arranged marriage or—worse—seen as a point of shame for a respectable omega, a sure sign of being unwanted and undesirable by their alpha. To avoid judgement, Yuuri knew many an omega used chemicals and herbs to numb their scent glands, just to give the effect of a disabled, bitten gland. As everyone covered their glands—leaving only scent to be the true language of courtship among debuting couples—there was little danger in pretending. Most certainly, Yuuri had never imagined he would be in such a situation as to consider the assistance of numbing agents, but if he must, then so be it.

Yuuri will not be shamed in public. He will not put his family in any further disgrace by not just being married to the House of Mayberry, but being rejected in bond by his husband as well. And, surely, Yuuri is too proud (and too nervous) to have a conversation that might verge on begging Victor to _claim_ him.

In a perfect world, they would claim each other. Yuuri would bite Victor’s scent gland, too, and they would belong to each other. However, in a socially acceptable alternative, Victor would at least bite Yuuri.

“What are you thinking about?” Victor asks, moving for emphasis.

The feeling of the knot moving inside him makes Yuuri jolt in pleasure. It’s starting to loosen up, but the very motion sends it tightening up again. Yuuri groans, breath labored as he says, “I’ve read that if you press the knot, it extends the time of activity. I promise to let you know when it’s loose. For someone so against a pregnancy, though, you seem very intent that your seed may take. You’ve _accidentally_ extended our attachment by a fair several minutes now.”

Victor seems to choke on his own spit, coughing loudly, “And where did you _read_ this?”

Yuuri grins with some satisfaction, leaning his elbows on Victor’s chest: “I mean to say that you ought to stop playing with my pucker hole, darling. As much as I enjoy the feeling of you inside me, we should sleep.”

“I had no such intentions, dearest,” Victor tries to reassure him, a faint blush dusting prettily over his nose.

“No intention of sleeping?” Yuuri arches an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips. He’s not sure from where this sudden surge of confidence and courage has come, but Yuuri decides in that moment that he can’t find it in himself to apologize for the way he feels when he’s this intimately wrapped up in Victor—from the way their legs tangle together to their scents mingling in the room, intoxicating and delicious.

“Yuuri,” Victor closes his eyes, and Yuuri wonders if he feels the energy of their union, too, like the very thickness of the air around them has changed.

“Victor,” he says back.

Yuuri choose that moment to lay his head back down, this time on Victor’s shoulder. He’d been trying to avoid—despite his discomfort—potentially gracing Victor’s exposed neck, but he doesn’t bother this time. Instead, he smiles to himself, letting the tip of his nose barely kiss the lower mound of Victor’s scent gland.

.

Victor isn’t in their bed when Yuuri wakes. Despite the sudden surge of panic that flushes through his body, he contains himself. He sits up carefully, groggy as he wraps an arm instinctively around his stomach and reaches for some wrinkled sheets. It’s the first time Victor has let him wake up alone. When the door opens, he starts, only relaxing when he spots Victor carrying a cup of tea and a small vial. Yuuri tries to brush his hair back, giving his husband a welcoming smile.  

“Morning,” Victor whispers, the mask fastened on his face already. He hands Yuuri the cup of tea shyly, and Yuuri shifts to let him sit next to him on the bed. Victor accepts the invitation. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Yuuri reassures him, taking a sip, “What is that?”

Victor lifts the little vial, offering it to Yuuri: “I know you have been clear about your feelings towards interfering with conception, but I still wanted you to have it. In case you ever change your mind about me. Yuuri, please take it. I pray you keep it, even if you decide to never use it.”

Yuuri tries to hide the hurt in his face as his hand moves from his stomach to reach for the vial.

“Is this to be used before or after?” he asks, shame wrecking through his body.

“It works in either instance,” Victor informs him, clearing his throat. He takes a deep, shaky breath before pulling the mask off his face. When Yuuri locks eyes with him, Victor can see the tears beginning to cling to the corners of his eyes. He brings Yuuri’s head in for a kiss, pressing his lips to his husband’s forehead.

“I see,” Yuuri sobs. He’s been feeling strange recently, likely a sign that he is likely approaching menstruation earlier than expected. Yuuri has been under significant stress as of late. Perhaps it’s for the best, considering Victor’s mind remains steadfast on not having a baby, not with Yuuri at least. “I don’t think we shall need it this month, but I’ll consider it for your benefit.”

“I am not asking anything of you, Yuuri,” Victor clarifies, letting a hand cup beneath Yuuri’s to keep the teacup and plate from shaking with Yuuri’s hand. “I just want you to know that I am fully in your care and beholden to _your_ decisions, Yuuri. But I wanted you to have options, especially as this morning might change your mind about this place.”

“I don’t understand.”

Victor presses their foreheads together: “You wanted rules, did you not? I have no intention of letting you have free access to all of the manor, but I believe I might have been too brash to insinuate I might be able to keep you from exploring with or without me.”

Yuuri smiles through his tears, bumping their foreheads together to ask for a kiss. Victor obliges, and it’s only the excitement to see the manor that keeps Yuuri from inching closer.

“Does that mean you’ll teach me, then?”

Victor nods, “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Yuuri, but it’s difficult to deny you anything.”

.

Yuuri changes into a comfortable set of green trousers that end below the knees, almost midway down his calves, where his stockings begin. He wears a matching blazer tapered at the waist, with a high-collared shirt to easily hide his scent gland. It’s been a while since Yuuri has given himself permission to dress in his home clothes, instead of fancy, expensive dresses from his trousseau. Back home, Yuuri had often taken advantage of the benefits middle-class and wealth bestowed upon him and chosen to wear more the acceptable modified fashion allowed of his status, rather than wear dresses all the time. It hadn’t been that Yuuri did not appreciate the look of a nice dress or that he couldn’t pull one off, so much as the ease and comfort provided by his home clothes let him clean, study, and leisure to his heart’s content—without having to worry about tripping on a long hem. He almost expects Victor to ask him to change, but that doesn’t happen.

Instead, Victor takes Yuuri to a different part of the manor already. They walk silently down the hallway before stopping a few doors down. Victor ushers Yuuri inside into a room decorated in soft peach pastels, cream, and lace. Yuuri admires the room, gasping when he notices the white French-styled doors with drawn back curtains looking out towards a balcony that gives a perfect view of their garden. A small piano lies in the corner, untouched and with an ignored layer of dust. Yuuri assumes this is one of those rooms that has generally been left untouched during Victor’s bachelor years.

“Oh,” Yuuri beams, almost twirling as he tries to take the sight of everything at once. “There’s a shelf of books here, too!”

Victor chuckles, closing the door and locking it behind him. He takes off his mask, pressing his back against the door.

“I thought, perhaps, we could make a new tradition together. I have designated this our private eating room, at least to breakfast, when you feel generous enough to gift me the pleasure of your company.”

Yuuri hears him faintly, fingers pressed against the glass of the doors as he tries to look out towards the garden from the warmth of the room: “What’s that yonder, Victor? It looks like a lake.”

“It is beyond our grounds,” Victor says, despite the fact Yuuri can easily tell the lake is within the boundaries of the manor’s lands.

Although ravaged by winter, Yuuri can almost imagine how beautiful the view will be come Spring. He turns to face Victor and extends out his hand, fingers pointing down. Victor seems taken aback by the sudden move, but takes a few steps to reach him.

 _This is ours_ , he thinks, letting his eyes feast on the small divan fitting only for two. _The library was Victor’s first, but this is ours to exist in freely, just the two of us together._  

“I love it,” Yuuri tells him, letting Victor pull him close so that their chests might remain pressed together. When his stomach growls, though, Victor laughs, motioning towards the small round table fitting for more a tea party than proper meal.

Yuuri finds that he’s exceedingly hungry that morning, more than the usual. He eats in earnest, reaching for the freshly made bread rolls and making sure to be generous with the butter. Victor watches him, almost pleased as he sips his tea. To add to his husband’s pleasure, Yuuri gives him a nervous smile as he pulls out the little vial Victor had gifted him that morning and puts a couple drops on his second cut of tea. In the comfort of their parlor, looking out towards one of the many double-French doors leading to the gardens, Yuuri appreciates being able to enjoy the sight of Victor’s face. He almost wishes it could be that way always, just the two of them. In a way, it will be just the two of them.

“Would you like to read together for an hour before we get on with the day?” Victor asks him, dabbing at his lips.

Yuuri nods, “Yes, please.”

.

The piano plays softly in the corner while the two read together. Victor explains, almost coyly, that it is one of the few benefits of an enchanted manor.

Yuuri almost considers leaving the exploration of the house to another day. Victor’s head on his lap and his face uncovered feels more like the images of romance Yuuri had curated in his head since childhood. He’d never thought he _could_ have something like what he has with Viktor, even if he can’t quite understand it or name it. _It’s all happening so fast_ , he considers, reading out loud. _I feel I’m still in denial that this might be happening at all, that I might feel for him more than I dare let myself admit._

It’s not hard. Victor is kind and intelligent, despite his overprotectiveness and aloof exterior. Seeing him now, with his eyes closed and listening to Yuuri’s voice, Yuuri can trace the lines of exhaustion written all over his face.

 _I promise to become your oasis, Victor_ , Yuuri thinks, trying not to imagine what it might be like to add a little one toddling in the room. His cheeks flush pink as he gulps down the image almost bitterly, like some feverish dream painting the image of a little girl with Victor’s hair playing on the rug. It’s silly to even imagine it. Despite the kindness Victor tries to show Yuuri, it’s obvious he is only trying to be accommodating. Victor has neither marked Yuuri nor changed his mind on them having a family. It’s hard to imagine Victor might share any of the ambitions Yuuri has for them both.

.

They have only just finished lounging together when there is a knock at the door. Victor brings down his mask quickly before Georgi peeks inside, looking apologetic. Victor ushers him inside with a quick motion of his hand.

“Sirs,” Georgi bows and now once looks up as he delivers his news. “My apologies, but a carriage has just arrived with Lord Giacometti. We were expecting him this afternoon still and I fear we are not ready as yet to welcome him to his chambers.”

“Ah, good morning, Georgi,” Victor greets him, tapping his masked chin as he considers the news. He takes Yuuri’s hand in his, pulling him up to stand with him in his excitement. “Well, that simply won’t do. The Countess and I will be down promptly to welcome him. Kindly prepare the dining room for entertaining. We will take care of entertaining Christophe until his chambers are ready.”

Georgi accepts instructions easily, closing the door behind him.

“That’s your artist friend, isn’t it?” Yuuri asks Victor shyly. He’s not dressed to receive visitors. “The one who was to paint my portrait?”

Victor nods, admiring him for a moment, “Yes. I daresay that, as per usual, Chris has chosen a most opportune time to visit. He has a method to his artistry and quite a talent for choosing the best time to paint his subjects. And, you are glowing this morning, Yuuri. So much so, I am sure I will not be the only one to compliment you on it. He will have quite the challenge trying to capture your beauty. I am sure of it.”

Yuuri blinks, surprised by the compliment.

“You exaggerate, Victor,” Yuuri hushes him.

“Yes, but I am generally in the habit of exaggerating absolutely everything,” Victor remarks with ease. “And I have yet to say something untrue.”

Yuuri shoves him playfully, walking towards the door. He lets his hips sway just a slight, enough to keep his husband’s attention, but not so much as to lose sight of his own dignity. It wouldn’t do to let his husband take too many liberties. Already, he has let Victor get away with much. 

“I should go make myself presentable for our guest,” Yuuri tells him softly.

“Why?” Victor says, joyful as he pulls Yuuri back to face him. “You were dressed just the same when we met for the first time. Let him be jealous of me this once that I have married the omega with the most delightful set of calves this half of the world.”

Yuuri blushes, shaking his head as he rushes out the door.

When he reaches his bedroom, he tries not to think of Victor’s words as he looks at his reflection in the mirror and lets his eyes fall on the sight of his stocking-covered ankles. But the moment he does, he groans and hides his face in his palms realizing that when Victor said he was _glowing_ , he had actually meant it _literally_.

(Naturally, then, when Victor doesn’t follow suit within a few minutes, Yuuri begins to panic. It’s not like he can meet Victor’s friend while he’s _glowing_ , but he also has to talk to Victor to figure out what’s happening to him. He reaches into his pocket to look at the vial again. There’s all types of herb and concoctions sold nowadays for desperate omegas. Being outside the city, Yuuri trembles at the idea of what Victor might have picked up in some unsavory place—although, Yuuri’s not sure anything made by a human should have this effect on him. The mirror behind him chirps in agreement, almost like it, too, remains skeptical that Yuuri is still glowing.

“Perhaps it’s a warning from the house?” Yuuri considers, as a chair bounces over to nudge him towards the door. “Right, I should find Victor,” he says, just as his wardrobe throws a hooded cape at him. Yuuri almost falls backwards as he catches it and whispers out a muffled thanks.)

.

“Glowing, you say?” Christophe laughs as he follows Victor out to the gardens. He almost trips on a rock as he attempts to keep up with Victor’s rushed steps. The day is particularly cold, but Victor hasn’t even bother with a coat as he heads straight for the greenhouse.

“I didn’t want to alarm him in case you or anyone else made note of it.”

“And so, you still told him that he was _glowing_?” Chris shakes his head, slapping a friendly hand on Victor’s shoulder. “My dear friend, I’m sure he has noticed it by now, seeing as he went to change.”

“Yuuri doesn’t like mirrors, so with some luck I can just give him this before he notices,” Victor informs Chris, motioning for him to come inside. Chris covers his ears instantly as both are assaulted with the sound of loud chirping and leaves rustling alongside the echoing, high-pitched complains from the small plots of green all around them. “Yes, yes, I hear you. But it is not as yet warm enough that you may move outdoors. Now, if you could all be silent!”

“Can’t hear you, my friend!” Chris yells as he entire room falls into silence. He drops his hands with obvious relief. “And exactly how do you intend to cure him from this sudden bout of glowing? Perhaps it is just his natural composition coming to the surface. Wouldn’t that be a delight! The Earl of Mayberry marrying one of us undesirables. Would you keep him in a room all his own? I hear he’s quite a beauty. Perhaps a nymph?”

“I said _all_ be silent,” Victor sighs, looking exhausted already as he kneels down to start digging at a little plot of land. “He’s not glowing because he’s _magic_. He’s glowing because he ingested something I gave him to prevent conception, which is only _slightly_ magicked.”

“Oh,” Chris gasps, “Well, aren’t you just as horrid as always. And here I thought that adorable little omega might have succeeded in domesticating you with how Georgi described you together. Then is the glowing just a poorly-timed side effect? Because I have painted many a blushing newly-wed omega before, but never one that was _glowing_ , not actually glowing.”

Victor rolls his eyes, breath labored as he tries to search for something: “It means he’s with child. And he’ll stop glowing when the medicine –and the child—are both out of his system. It shouldn’t have had this effect so quickly.”

“You mean to tell me you gave your charming little spouse one of your weird concoctions and didn’t explain to him fully what it would do?”

“I didn’t think he could have fallen with child so soon—”

“It only takes one time,” Chris scoffs, refraining from asking Victor if it had been more than one time. “Just ask Mama. She’ll kindly tell you that I was a most unpleasant of surprises. So, then, what? You assumed he wouldn’t fall with child because you do not want to be a father? Then what is the problem—”

“I made a mistake,” Victor barks back, hands shaking. “That’s the problem. I cannot take this from him like this, Chris. He would never forgive me and I’m not sure that I would ever forgive myself. Where did that plant wander off?”

Chris watches his friend panic in front of him. He drops to his knees, elbowing Victor gently: “Hand me that over there. What are we looking for?”

.

Once Yuuri is sure he is fully covered, he rushes down to the dining room only to bump into Georgi. Yuuri clutches the hood ends close to his face: “Ah, my apologies, Mr. Popovich. Are my husband and his guest in the dining room?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Georgi shakes his head, studying Yuuri carefully, “I’m afraid not, Your Lordship. They made a small detour to the greenhouse, but everything is ready, if you’d like to wait for them in the dining room. May I take your cape, my lord?”

Yuuri shakes his head, taking a quick step back, “No, thank you. I will seek him out in the greenhouse, then. Thank you.”

He feels exceedingly rude having dismissed Georgi so informally, but he is comforted by the knowledge that he is having an emergency. It’s not like Yuuri is trying to be intentionally rude, even if he hasn’t had much opportunity to get to know the servants of the house. Every short interaction feels like a missed opportunity. But, Yuuri isn’t sure he can risk anyone else seeing him glow. He takes steady, but quick-footed steps before his boot steps on something wet that splatters and hits his stockings. “What is this?” he whispers, trailing with his eyes the way a small stream of water about the size of a trickle runs from the strange little puddle by his foot and rolls down the slopes of the manor’s lands.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s voice breaks his thoughts, and he looks up to find his husband waving at him from the entrance to the greenhouse. Yuuri breathes out in relief. “Stay there; you shouldn’t exert yourself much for now.”

“I’ve little intention of going anywhere, darling,” Yuuri responds, hugging his upper body tightly.

When Victor finally reaches him, he’s joined by a tall, green-eyed man. Yuuri immediately recognizes that this must be his painter friend, Mr. Christophe Giacometti. Despite the situation at hand, Yuuri makes sure to give a polite nod of recognition: “Mr. Giacometti, it is a pleasure. I had had the pleasure of meeting your parents before, but not the opportunity to make your acquaintance. You will have to forgive that I do not give you my hand now in courtesy, but I’m afraid I’ve a caught something awful.”

“Yes, I daresay that you’re looking a little greener than I assume is usual?” Chris winks at him. “Worry not, Countess. I am well-acquainted with the happenings at Mayberry Manor and, I assure you, it is very much within the character of my magnanimity to be wholly forgiving of the bizarre and eccentric.”

“Only because _he_ is bizarre and eccentric,” Victor chastises, ignoring Chris to tend to Yuuri.

“Oh, well, in that case,” Yuuri huffs, pushing the hood back to show Victor his face. His eyes begin to well with tears. “ _Darling_ , when you said I was glowing, I thought you were being quixotic, not verbatim. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He touches Yuuri’s arm gently, leading him back towards the house. There’s a softness to his touch that makes Yuuri relax. He basks in the knowledge that he is in his husband’s care.

“Yuuri, I am sorry. I didn’t want to alarm you. But come, I’ve just the remedy to help you.”

Chris nods, “He’s a right fool most of the time, but when it comes to things that glow and go spook, he’s very good.”

Yuuri lets out a small chuckle, charmed by Chris’ attitude: “Then, I’m going to be okay?”

Chris and Victor exchange some quick looks before nodding rapidly.

“Yes, of course,” Victor promises him, almost breathless. He pauses for a moment to bring Yuuri into his arms for a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I promise.”

.

Victor and Chris take him into the kitchen, where Isabella barely gets a look at him before she rushes to lock the doors to the kitchen and proceeds to ignore them completely. She doesn’t even bother to greet them, acting like they’re not even there in between tasting a pot of stew and beginning to dry some of the plates. Chris admires his nails, sitting quietly on the table while Victor prepares Yuuri some type of tea.

“Here, drink this,” he finally says, handing Yuuri a cup.

Yuuri follows instructions. His face twists in disgust the moment he starts drinking: “This is disgusting.”

“Drink it all,” Victor encourages, lifting the cup back to his lips. Yuuri obeys quietly, gagging the entire time. When Yuuri hands the cup back to Victor, he doesn’t inspect it before asking, “you drank it all?”

“Yes. I feel nauseous now,” Yuuri pouts.

Chris winks at him, “At least you don’t look nauseous anymore?”

“He wasn’t green,” Victor scoffs. “Just a healthy, happy gold.”

“I was _glowing_ ,” Yuuri cries, only to panic when his eyes fall on Isabella’s form. Victor shushes him gently, taking the seat next to him. “I’m alright now?”

Victor nods, letting his fingers brush over Yuuri’s fringe, “Nothing but a lovely, natural blush to your cheeks, Yuuri. I promise.”

“What exactly happened to me?”

“I’ll explain later, I promise.”

“You say that all the time,” Yuuri stands from the chair, ripping his hands from Victor’s hold. “I can’t believe you. After all the things you said to me this morning, you’re still keeping your secrets, Victor.”

“Yuuri,” Victor begs, scrambling to stand. “Just sit for a bit and calm yourself. You’ll fall sick from nerves.”

Yuuri shakes his head. He turns to Chris, giving him an apologetic look as he says, “Pray accept my apologies, Lord Giacometti, but I need some time alone.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please feel free to read some information on how I'm interpreting omegeverse in this AU and revising it with some loose Victorian inspiration: https://cuttlemefishwrites.tumblr.com/post/172524585399/lets-talk-a-little-bit-about-the-omegaverse


	9. To See Your Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever heard the song that has the lyrics I'm using for every chapter, then... maybe you know that the next chapter is very likely going to be titled "Performed Before Your Very Eyes." So, keep that in mind as you read this chapter. I mention this because we've come to the point where things now begin to move very fast because we're going to need to introduce a lot of characters, including Lilia and Yuri and the million and one creatures and things lurking in the house -- like Makkachin! Yes, magical creature Makkachin. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First we need this super boring mess of a chapter, lol. 
> 
> As always, you can find me (and sneak peaks and spoilers) over at CUTTLEMEFISHWRITES (Tumblr) and CMFWRITINGS (Twitter).

The problem with having been a bachelor for so long is that it breeds incorrigible habits that Viktor can’t now seem to shake despite his most earnest attempts. He considers this as he runs his fingers frantically through his hair, questioning whether he should follow his husband, who, in but a short amount of time, has managed to root himself deep into every inch of Viktor’s very essence.

“Give him some time,” Christophe says, studying Viktor as he sips on his tea and steals periodic bites from a few sandwiches Isabella has left for their comfort. “It’s been quite a day for him, and it sounds like you have kept him on quite a short lead.”

“Only for his safety.”

“Perhaps, but you do have a talent for riddling people into near madness.”

It is not missed on Viktor that he has difficulties with communication. In fact, it’s strikingly unsurprising, all things considered. When Viktor had been a small child, he had mainly kept to the kitchen, napping at all hours by the fire while his mother worked much like Isabella now, until the day she died of consumption acquired in London while caring for a sister. His father had long left his job as a groundskeeper by then, never to contact Viktor. He had seldom been allowed to venture anywhere, much less talk to anyone. After being chosen to inherit the Mayberry title, Viktor had begrudgingly been kept to tutors, and his new family. As the keeper of Mayberry, Viktor had developed a knack for speaking in parallels to make his job safer, per the expectations of the Crown. Viktor had never learned the way of relationships and soft, beautiful omegas with good-breeding. Lilia had never been one for _softness_ and Yakov had always been a man of few words. _All you have are excuses_ , he thinks.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Viktor explains, wondering if he sounds as desperate as he feels.

Christophe arches an eyebrow, “Why, is it me or have the secrets of the alcove brought you to your knees so early in marriage, my friend?”

Viktor scoffs, glad to have the mask to cover his burning cheeks, “Nonsense you speak, all of it nonsense. We’ve barely been wed any time at all. But I naturally worry. Yuuri is a good omega, perhaps too good to have been imposed upon with this maddening house.”

“Well,” his friend responds, letting his hand slide over Viktor’s shoulders as he passes, “seeing as you are unlikely to be very good company for now, I think I will retire to get started on my painting of your darling Yuuri.”

“You will not have him pose?”

“I’ve no need for it,” Christophe grins, “When you wrote to me of his beauty, you were perhaps too modest. He has a face that stays in the mind, doesn’t he? Besides, I think his future is quite clear. Good luck, my friend.”

.

The wind is angry as it nips at Yuuri’s cheeks and floods his entire body with cold so striking that he almost considers going back. He looks over his shoulder and finds that the coat rack appears concerned, pressing a hook against the glass of the double French doors. “Well, there’s certainly no going back now,” Yuuri says to himself, rolling his breath over his palms before he continues down the familiar pathway to the greenhouse. However, the memory of his last encounter there holds him hostage to his fears, and he grows all the angrier that his husband might be proven right by Yuuri’s own insecurities—that Yuuri’s courage might falter after all when faced with the challenges of life posed by Mayberry Manor.

His fingers dig into the sides of his hood, pulling it closer around his face as he decides to walk in a different direction. Yuuri stomps his feet as he paces in place, circling once and twice before he considers making his way down a blurred path towards some trees.

When his feet hit a splash of water again, he looks down at his stockings and finds them soaked: “What is this?”

There’s a spot on the grass that spurts water like a fountain the size of Yuuri’s thumb. He kneels down to study it carefully, amazed at the magic in front of him. Yuuri gazes in surprise at the way a trickle of water (thicker and wider as his eyes follow it upstream) flows down to the spot before rolling on itself and running back up to an unseen source. Yuuri has never seen water roll like this in nature.

“Countess Nikiforov,” Emil interrupts his train of thought. Yuuri looks up to find their groundskeeper giving him a bright smile. “Is everything alright?”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri clears his throat, standing quickly. “I was just admiring this small curiosity, although I do not think I’ve ever seen something quite like it. What is it?”

“Oh, that,” Emil nods, shrugging, “I’m sorry to say I don’t know, your lordship. Lord Nikiforov has often said it is some type of natural spring that lives in the grounds. Seems quite small to me.”

“Does it lead to the lake beyond the Manor’s grounds?” he asked, curiosity sparked as he takes a few tentative steps to follow the water. It’s so clear, it reminds Yuuri of gossamer or dew, perfect and swift as it rolls on the ground despite gravity.

“A lake, Sir?”

Yuuri nods, pointing down the line of the trickle.

“Why, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before!” Emil confesses, his face pale as he looks down at his shovel. “Perhaps I ought to get Lord Nikiforov to see; it’s always best to inform him of odd happenings in the manor. Would you like me to find him, Sir?”

“Oh, no need. He’s probably with Lord Giacometti at the moment,” Yuuri dismisses him. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll just keep on my walk, then, and tell him of it at dinner.”

“Sir,” Emil tries again, voice small as he looks down at the trail and then at Yuuri, “I’m not sure that’s very safe. Perhaps it would be best to wait for Lord Nikiforov—”

“I do not _need_ my lord husband to go for a simple walk around the confines of the Manor’s grounds, Mr. Nekola,” Yuuri says, ignoring Emil as he continues marching next to the spring of water. He waves over his head dismissively, “I do not _need_ my lord husband at all!”

And Emil takes that as warning enough to carry on with his tasks. He still has to make a trip to town before Lord Nikiforov takes note that he’s running behind on his chores, not to mention Emil was not so new as to not remember that the Countess Mayberry was intended to be the true keeper of order in the manor. It wouldn’t be on him to deny their new mistress.

.

Yuuri feels shame after several minutes of walking. By now, the small trickle has grown from the width of a finger to a considerable several steps, and it only seems to grow wider as he continues on his journey upstream. He finds it surprising that the water runs _over_ the slopping grass, until he makes it to a point where it digs in, creating a shallow river. Yuuri knows it’s not cold enough for the water to ice over, but he finds odd how smooth it runs. He’s been walking for quite a while now, but he feels determined to continue on the journey. The lake is finally within the distance of his gaze, and he’s eager to see it in person.

When he reaches the lake at last, he finds that it’s relatively small compared to the swatch he’d seen from his window. There’s a large, weeping oak that extends over a portion of lake. The water pools and ripples, pointing towards a surprising cave-like structure that seems to exist self-contained to a mount of rock so perfectly fashioned into a half-circle that Yuuri might consider it man-made, if not for the fact that no one would spend time and money to make one.

“This is incredible,” Yuuri whispers to himself, glad he’s wearing trousers instead of a dress. It gives him the freedom to move and look around. Having grown-up in London, Yuuri has never seen waters so clear. He reaches down with his hand and finds that the water feels warm to the touch, compared to the weather. “I can’t imagine that this belongs to anyone that would leave it unused.”

Something hard hits him on the head, and Yuuri falls back to sit on the ground. He finds a small pebble by his feet and feels the trickle of a speck of blood slide down his scalp. It’s but a dot against his palm, and he decides not to mind it much. When he tries to crawl towards the water again, he is met with a hiss—a sound much like a cat in heat.

He looks up, unsure what to expect, until he comes face to face with a young man glaring at him from a nest of thorns so large, it is a miracle that it doesn’t topple from either side of the tree’s largest, thickest branch. Yuuri crawls back, finger digging into the dirt. It’s cold, yet the man wears tunics white and pale purple, like something mythical and ethereal. His dark hair and tanned skin contrasts against his clothing. In his hand, he holds several pebbles and seems ready to strike again.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri breathes out, showing both his palms, “I’m sorry. I was just exploring. My husband owns the manor down yonder, not far from here. He’s the Earl of Mayberry, Lord Nikiforov. We seem to share the lake. I was out for a walk and wandered too far.”

The young man scrutinizes him some more, and for the first time, Yuuri notices that his cheeks are blotched with tear marks, like trails. Yuuri wonders why he’s been crying and worries instantly when he sees the nest again. _Perhaps he’s trapped?_

“Are you in pain? Are you trapped?” Yuuri asks, concerned. He stands, dusting off his pants. “Do you need help?”

The last phrase seems to spark something in the young man, who nods rapidly. He drops all the pebbles down to the lake and clutches both hands around his own neck, opening his mouth to show Yuuri he cannot speak. Yuuri reacts vehemently, whole body shaking as he says, “You’ve lost your voice? Are you ill? Well, it’s surely no wonder with how cold it is and how… _uncovered_ you are. Do you hurt anywhere? You are sitting on quite a number of thorns.”

The young man responds by floating down from his nest, and Yuuri jumps, gasping as he realizes that this isn’t a human. He considers running, but the other wraps a tight, insistent hand around his wrist and pulls his palm out to trace over and over: _Countess?_

It takes Yuuri a few seconds to realize it.

“Yes, yes, I’m the Countess of Mayberry.”

 _Phichit_.

“What’s a Phichit?” Yuuri asks, brows furrowed.

The young man points at himself proudly.

“You’re Phichit,” Yuuri confirms, just as the sound of something loud and angry resounds from the cave. “What’s in there?”

 _A mermaid_.

“A real mermaid? In a lake?”

Yuuri had always heard stories about mermaids, mainly terrifying ones that verged on the absurd. He had always strongly assumed that such stories were for the benefit of children’s nightmares, to keep the adventurous in check and confined to their small island. Yuuri had also always assumed mermaids were the stuff of oceans and large bodies of water. Now that he is in front of the lake, it feels and looks more like a pool.

Phichit looks offended, snorting as he writes: _In a fountain. Nymph. Fountain Nymph._ _Phichit._

“You’re a fountain nymph taking care of a mermaid?” Yuuri frowns.

Phichit simply nods, giving him a bright smile. As if to prove his point, he crawls over to the lake and digs deep, bringing up pearls and precious pebbles in his hands. For the first time, Yuuri realizes the little pebble that hit him was a precious quartz—a gem of some type, quite translucent with jagged edges.

“How are you here? How is this a fountain? How did a mermaid get in here?”

 _Long story_ , Phichit traces three times. _Help me?_

Yuuri motions for them both to sit on the ground. It’s cold, but Phichit doesn’t seem to mind it, ignoring Yuuri when he sets his cape down for the both of them.

“Tell me, how can I help you?”

And Phichit simply grins, clasping his hands together. He bats his eyelashes at Yuuri, drawing a heart with both his index fingers in the air. Yuuri laughs in delight when Phichit claps his hands and begins to look around for the rock again.

 _You help me?_ Phichit writes on the ground, digging deep on the soil.

“I will do my best, although I don’t know how much help I’ll be…” Yuuri taps his chin. “Does Viktor—I mean, Lord Nikiforov know you are here?”

Phichit raises both eyebrows, high enough that they almost get lost in the fringe of his short hair. And he nods, taking Yuuri’s hand to write: _He knows._ It sends something incensing within Yuuri. It’s just one more lie Viktor has told Yuuri. He can still remember asking about the lake and being told it wasn’t even in their grounds—a lie. Yuuri lifts his chin defiantly, smiling softly as he says, “Oh, I’ll be _delighted_ to help you, Phichit.”

Here it is, an opportunity. Yuuri has been overeager to show Viktor he can handle the secrets of the manor. How better to do so than to help one of its very inhabitants?

.

They sneak back into the house and Yuuri proceeds to follow Phichit down corridor after corridor until they reach their destination. The door is a dark, deep shade of green with gold swirls painted around the edges. Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever been in this side of the manor before and considers carefully whether he wants to follow a magical creature inside a room with a colorful door, even after all his husband’s warnings that _things_ (undescribed and unknown to Yuuri,) lurk everywhere. Near the door, a lamp squeaks, shuffling in place, and Yuuri considers it warning enough. Phichit gives him a bright smile, pushing the door open to beckon Yuuri to follow him into the shadowy darkness.

“I’m not so sure that I should,” Yuuri whispers, taking a step back.

The nymph responds by popping his head back out, pouting. He pulls Yuuri’s hand forward, scribbling rapidly over his palm. Yuuri can’t follow every word. Phichit huffs, trying again with one word. _Promise_. Yuuri did promise to help, but he’s not quite sure _what_ he’s helping Phichit to do.

 _Is it too scary for you?_ Phichit writes over his hand.

“I’m not scared,” Yuuri insists. “I’m not.”

 _Then, come inside_.

Yuuri gives the lamp one last look before he allows Phichit to pull him into the room. It’s dark inside, with only a few shadows scurrying from the bits of light lingering through the window and the slits uncovered by thick curtains. The room is completely empty. Yuuri can barely see, but the floorboards creak as he walks, and almost knocks into a small, round table holding a wooden box.

Phichit drops his hand and Yuuri braces himself. He watches the nymph shuffle around the room. When he hears something clanking and scratching the floor, Yuuri turns to find the lamp peeking inside and shining towards Yuuri.

“Oh, hello,” Yuuri whispers, beckoning the lamp inside. It instantly helps to soothe him to know there’s something else there with him, beyond just Phichit. “Where you worried about me? I’m just fine, pet.” – It’s a lie, and the lamp seems to know the same, shaking as it bounces into the room.

Phichit clasps his hands together before rushing back towards him, content to find that they now have some light to guide them. He points at the box. With the lamp next to him, Yuuri can now see it clearly: It’s painted a deep shade of maroon red with silver decorations. Exploring it better, Yuuri can’t understand why Phichit needs his help. The box isn’t even locked.

“You want me to open that for you?” Yuuri asks. “Oh no, I couldn’t. I’ve read about Pandora’s box. I could never, not without knowing what’s inside.”

Phichit rests an open hand over his throat and opens his mouth.

“Your _voice_ is in there? Inside this box?”

The lamp seems equally intrigued now, inching closer. Yuuri considers this for a moment: For all he knows, Phichit could be lying and something more sinister could be inside the box. But, somehow, Yuuri doesn’t think Viktor to be a careless man. If, in fact, there is something dangerous inside the box, Yuuri isn’t sure that Viktor would leave it inside a room, alone, without a lock. That points to Phichit telling the truth.

He lets his fingers graze over the top of the box.

Phichit rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, waiting expectantly. The lamp next to him chirps again. Yuuri turns to look at each equally: “Fine. I’m doing it.”

He closes his eyes as he flips the top open.

“Is it done?” he asks, opening one eye before the other.

Phichit frowns, pushing Yuuri back gently to look inside the box. When he does, something bright comes popping out of the box, like a shooting star that hits the corner of the room and keeps bouncing all around them. The lamp squeaks, bouncing on its base back towards the door. All Yuuri can do is duck.

“What is happening?” he yells over the sound of firecrackers.

Phichit is too busy jumping all around the room, trying to catch the speck of light, until it hits the ground and jumps straight inside Phichit’s opened mouth. The nymph’s cheeks shake as he tries to keep his lips closed tightly. All Yuuri feels is relief as he reaches for the top of the box to close it again. Eventually, Phichit swallows. The lamp takes that as its cue to return.

“Are you alright?” Yuuri asks, letting a hand float over the lamp’s drum. “Poor pet. It was awful frightening, wasn’t it?”

“Not half as frightening as us getting caught!” Phichit responds, and Yuuri gasps.

“It really was your voice in there, then?”

Phichit nods, “Yes! For over a decade, I have not spoken to a soul. But the story will have to wait. Come, quick, before the lamp tattles on us both. I fear what he would do to either of us if he finds us here.”

The lamp squeaks and squeaks, wholly offended as its drum shakes in Phichit’s direction.

“You’ll combust, getting oil all over,” Yuuri implores the lamp. “I highly doubt it’s going to tattle on us, seeing as it helped us. Immensely, at that. Our thanks, my dear pet. Besides, what have we to fear? Viktor, surely, wouldn’t let anything happen to any of us.”

Yuuri’s words only seem to rile Phichit all the more.

“Yes, yes, my gratitude to you both, but I really should go, and so should you,” Phichit starts pushing Yuuri and the lamp back towards the door.

“Why are you so concerned? What could honestly happen?” Yuuri rolls his eyes, just at the same time as the door slams closed in front of all of them. He feels like a character in an adventure novel—invincible. Here lies proof that Yuuri has taken on a creature of the mansion and won. Yuuri gasps, running to reach for the knob. When it doesn’t budge, he feels his heart drop to his stomach. “No, no, no. How does this keep happening to me?”

“You keep getting locked inside rooms?” Phichit groans, his robes swishing as he floats in the air. He crosses his legs, tapping his chin in thought. “And you didn’t think to mention it before? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a Countess-in-training.”

“It’s alright,” Yuuri reminds himself, resting a hand over his chest. “Viktor will find us.”

The lamp chirps, as if equally reassured by Yuuri’s words.

“If he finds us, then he’ll surely give all three of us grief!”  

“Viktor is very kind. He can only be happy and proud that I assisted you with an issue that has plagued you for years.”

“Except it was your monster of a husband that did this to me in the first place! I highly doubt he will be pleased that I enlisted your help.”

Yuuri blinks, feeling his knees buckle, “What?”

Phichit studies his face for a moment. He worries at his bottom lip, watching as Yuuri slowly kneels until he’s sitting on the floor. It’s not that Phichit has any intention of taking his words back for the Earl of Mayberry, but Yuuri’s distress concerns him and touches him deeply. He trips over himself to scrub the damage, “ _Monster_ was, perhaps, too strong a word. I am sure much has changed since I last had a voice, but to be quite honest, Yuuri, I’m not sure I want to risk discovering so now.”

“You don’t understand,” Yuuri sobs, “My husband already doesn’t trust me. If he discovers that I’ve aided you against his wishes, surely he will hate me now.”

The lamp bends over, barely touching Yuuri as it chirps what Phichit can only assume are attempts at comfort.

“Hate would be too strong a word,” Phichit tries again, shrugging as the lamp turns to him admonishingly. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get us out of here. There has to be some type of trap door around here. This entire place is a trap of sorts.”

When Yuuri sobs again, Phichit amend his words: “Trap _is_ too strong a word. A maze, then? I’ll find the _other_ door!”

“You could technically float out of here, couldn’t you?” Yuuri sniffles, looking up at Phichit.

Phichit considers this for a minute, before rushing towards the window, “Why yes, yes I could! How did I not think of it before? I only needed you to _invite_ me inside and open the door and the box, but I am free to leave. Yuuri, come quick. I’m sure I’ve the strength to take you down as well.”

Yuuri looks up just in time to find Phichit pushing the window open. He scrubs at his eyes and shuffles to his feet. The lamp follows next to him, clanking along as they both reach the window. Phichit kneels and stretches out his arms, just at the same time as Yuuri tries to lift the lamp.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t leave little pet here. What if Viktor finds it and blames it for my doings? If he took your voice, I’d hate to think what could happen to the lamp.”

Phichit shakes his head, “We can’t take it into the outside. I don’t know _what_ the house would do if you took part of it outside.”

“It’ll be fine,” Yuuri chuckles, until he finds that the lamp is already bounding away from him. “What is it? Afraid of heights, my pet?”

“Even it knows better than to try,” Phichit sighs. “Yuuri. Come now.”

Yuuri turns to look at the lamp huddling in the corner of the room. It bends into itself.

“You go on without us,” he whispers.

“What? No, I can’t leave you in here,” Phichit shakes his head, already trying to reach for Yuuri. “Come with me. I’m sure I can convince Seunggie to give you a small space in his cave and _not_ eat you. You’re pretty enough that I’m sure he’d not mind it a bit as long as we decorate you with some pearls and gold. Don’t make me leave you here. What if that _monster_ hurts you?”

Yuuri shakes his head, “Look at how scared it is. I can’t leave it in here. You go ahead. I’ll be fine. Viktor won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?” Phichit asks, voice shaking.

“I guess I don’t know,” Yuuri looks down at his hands.

“Pray, come see me tomorrow,” Phichit looks towards the window. “You will?”

“I promise,” Yuuri nods, already taking off his cape to drape it over his arm. “It’s alright, my pet. We’ll be just fine. Phichit, go.”

When Phichit is gone, Yuuri makes sure to close the window after him. He heads to the corner of the room and lays down his cape to sit next to the lamp and wait. A part of him fears that Viktor might not find them. Another, though, fears that he will.

However, it doesn’t take long before Yuuri hears some movement and finds that the door has opened a small bit, just enough for Yuuri to notice shadows dancing over light. He gasps, scrambling to his knees as he tries to reach for it. It doesn’t close again, giving him and the lamp enough time to leave.

He makes sure to shut the door behind them, and then runs.

Yuuri actually doesn’t know where to go at first. When he finds the stairs, he goes down to the first floor to orient himself again. When the coat hanger spots him, Yuuri hears it chirp, soft and small like a bird, and he jumps.

“Oh, hello,” he whispers, finally draping his cape over an empty hook. “Hello, yes, it is good to see you again. Pray, keep that for me, will you?”

He considers hiding in the library, but fears finding Viktor there. Phichit’s words haunt him still. The word _monster_ has slipped from Viktor’s lips a couple of times, but Yuuri had always assumed it was Viktor’s own reservations blossoming in fear and uncertainty. Hearing it from someone else, it makes Yuuri question everything he thinks he knows about his husband.

When he next tries to take stock of where he is, he finds that he has somehow wandered to his bedroom. He lets his fingers trace the wood of the door before he makes his way inside.

.

“Did you find him?” Christophe asks, mouth around a brush as he continues to sketch something on canvas. Viktor ignores him completely, dragging himself haggardly to serve himself some gin. Christophe doesn’t bother looking at him. The clink of glass alone serves to help him map where Viktor is in the room. “Then, you did not find your husband. Should I cover my eyes?”

“No, I didn’t find him. I went to the second floor. Something was amiss somewhere in the house, but no one was in the room. Nothing seemed tampered. I even asked a lamp that was on duty, and it swore that it had seen nothing. I tell you, Christophe, he’s driving me mad with worry and all these emotions I’ve no need for, and then when I think he’s strung me along to push me over a cliff, he brings me in with such softness that I willingly drown in his very scent,” Viktor sighs, dropping on an armchair. He doesn’t even bother with the mask, simply sloshing the contents of his drink inside the glass. He watches the alcohol, bringing the glass at eye-level, before he says, “I fear I might love my husband.”

“Oh darling, even I could’ve told you that,” Christophe replies, beginning to prepare some paint. “Come now, come here. I think I’ve something to brighten your mood. Take a look.”

Viktor groans as he stands and takes a few long steps to stand behind Christophe.

“And? What do you think?”

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d fail to capture anyone on canvas, my friend,” Viktor pats Christophe’s shoulder before returning to his chair. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect once you have him pose for you.”

Christophe rolls his eyes, “Go keep looking for your husband before you insult me further, Viktor.”

.

Having left Christophe to fend for himself for the evening, Viktor is relieved to hear from a coat hanger that rumor has it his husband has retuned home and taken to hiding in their bedchambers. Along the way, Viktor considers stopping by the library for more work, but ultimately decides to head up for the evening, and has little expectation that he would hear Yuuri’s soft whimpers from the other side of the door. His heart stutters. He presses his chest against the door, turning the knob slowly.

“Yuuri?” he calls softly, unsure if he even should when he finds his husband on the rug, his knees tucked by his side and his arms tight around his stomach. He slams the door behind him, practically tripping over himself to slide by his side. His hands run greedy over Yuuri’s face. His thumbs press at the tear marks on his cheeks. “Yuuri, what is it?”

Viktor is sure he had acted swiftly. It isn’t possible that Yuuri should be in any physical discomfort and pain, yet his condition makes Viktor all the more hurried to check. His fingers stutter as they float over the contours of Yuuri’s arms and waist, unsure where to settle, if at all.

Yuuri looks up, nose red as a pained sob escapes his lips, and Viktor assumes the worst. He reaches down for Yuuri’s hands, but Yuuri shakes his head, refusing to budge. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor feels something break in his throat. He rips the mask off his face, throwing it over his shoulder. “Please tell me, beloved, what ails you? Where does it hurt that I might soothe your discomfort?”

“No! Stay away, Viktor! Oh god, surely you will hate me now!” Yuuri cries, shaking as he tries to crawl back. When his back is pressed firmly against the end of their bed, Yuuri lifts a trembling hand to point behind Viktor at the corner of the room. 

Viktor blinks, unsure, before he turns to find a rocking cradle swaying slow in the corner of their bedroom. He gulps hard, inching closer to his husband as he slides along the floor. When he tries to take Yuuri’s hands again to reassure him of his affections, Yuuri keeps an arm tight around his stomach before he slaps Viktor’s shoulder to shove him away: “No!” he screams, “No, no, you’re not going to take it from me!”

And Viktor feels something die in his heart as he realizes Yuuri is afraid that Viktor might hurt him. He accepts Yuuri’s faint slaps as he wraps both his arms around his husband, letting Yuuri hide his face in Viktor’s chest. Nestled against him, Yuuri looks so small with his back curved and his quaking shoulders. It’s almost impossibly difficult to imagine that soft and meek, trembling in fear, Yuuri is the tabernacle of their hopes and anxieties—carrying inside him the life the two of them have created from moments barely stolen in time. It is a love nestled within Yuuri that has yet to belong to them in marriage, yet exists already in fact. And, despite his personal worries, Viktor can’t bring himself to—even now—consider any other option than that their arms might hold this child someday. It’s pointless to even consider it now, given that Viktor had known as much the moment he had feasted on the sight of Yuuri glowing in their secret parlor. So, Viktor presses soft kisses against Yuuri’s head, whispering endearments and reassurances: “Why would I ever take something so wonderful away from us?” he repeats this over and over until Yuuri pushes away, and Viktor has a chance to take his hands and kiss his fingertips.

.

It’s a surprise to Yuuri that Viktor is the personification of kindness as he ushers Yuuri into bed, letting him rest while Viktor prepares a bath for him. It’s warm enough that it could scald his bones against the cold of the outside. Yuuri would be lying if he tried to deny that there is something soothing about the way Viktor’s fingers had traced circles over his scalp and down his body.

Now, back in the comforts of their marriage bed, his wet hair acts like a cooling balm on his scalp and against his still hot face. He’s sure his eyes are still red, his skin splotched with the discoloration so usual to grief. Despite the time lapsed, Yuuri’s eyes still burn and his forehead throbs. His hand now hangs loosely over his flat stomach. But he still sighs into Viktor’s touch, relaxing as his husband finishes combing his hair back. Now that he’s tucked in their bed with a fresh nightgown, he feels that he can start processing everything that has happened tonight. 

“May I join you?” Viktor asks reverently once he is done. 

Yuuri considers his request for a moment before nodding, “Please do. I would much like it if you did.”

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor responds, and he sounds so earnest that Yuuri melts. “May I touch you?”

Viktor has been touching Yuuri indiscriminately for the last couple of hours. It takes Yuuri a second to realize what Viktor is asking. He stays quiet for a beat, his heart hammering in his chest. This child belongs just as much to Viktor as it does to Yuuri. This he knows to be true, despite the way his entire body tenses again at the implication. But he nods through the fear, and watches entranced as Viktor’s hand falls over his own. 

“I did not envision this in our future so soon,” Viktor whispers, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I dare say you didn’t envision it at all,” Yuuri sniffs, and he almost just as soon regrets the bitterness edging his words.

Viktor’s face only softens all the more, “You are right, Yuuri. I did not envision it at all. But I will endeavor to be now not just a good husband, but also a good father, and I do hope you will be patient with me as I try to learn how to be both. It does not come easy to me to be so responsible for something as precious.”

“A veritable surprise, given how you keep so many wondrous things here.”

“They are kept here, certainly, and receive my attention and I do guard them quite jealously, but I am not sure it is a task I relish, much less one for which I wish to be responsible. You can imagine that has also not come easy to me, either.”

“I’ve already heard some complaints,” Yuuri chides him.

“Is that so?” Viktor arches an eyebrow. He tries not to be impatient, but fears he already knows. His fingers shake as he asks, “From who?”

“It matters very little from who,” Yuuri responds, fearing that he has said too much and put Phichit at risk. He tries so smooth things over by bringing a hand to cup Viktor’s cheek. “I confess that I do have something to tell you, but I would rather do it tomorrow when you’re not so angry with me. Is that alright, my husband?”

Viktor reaches to keep Yuuri’s hand in place, moving his head just a slight to let his nose trace the sensitive skin of his wrist and breathe in Yuuri’s scent. His smell has changed, turned from something sultry and inviting into something akin to comfort and home. It soothes him instantly, ripping a purr from his chest: “I’m not angry at all, Yuuri. Do you not believe me? How can I prove it to you?”

Yuuri stays quiet, a flicker of heat rolling over his body when he feels Viktor’s lips press against the gland on his wrist.

“Well, I have a confession of my own, perhaps several, and some plans for us both tomorrow. Perhaps, then, it is best if you rest now and we share our secrets tomorrow during breakfast in our special place,” Viktor sighs, reaching to press a kiss on Yuuri's forehead. “I should go prepare for bed.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is, indeed, an opportunist here (and like a lot of the creatures kept confined to the house, terried of Viktor). Yes, Seunggie is a mermaid. Chris is a painter (of a special variety). And just wait until you all find out what Minako and Mila are... 
> 
> Viktor will probably have an opportunity to give his version of what happened in the next chapter, along with a million other things he needs to explain to Yuuri... but, of course, Viktor now doesn't want to scare Yuuri or make him run, so, he's going to make things a little softer -- which he will regret later. Maybe.


End file.
